


Go It Alone

by LarasLandlockedBlues



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angry Sex, Assassination, Bisexual Female Character, Brynjolf is Endgame, Canon-Typical Violence, Casual Murder, Casual Sex, Chaotic Neutral OC, Cunnilingus, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Denial of Feelings, Drunken Flirting, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Balgruuf/Original Female Character, Minor Marcurio/Original Female Character, Minor Muiri/Original Female Character, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, OC is a Hot Mess, OC is not the Dragonborn, One Night Stands, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Female Character, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Promiscuity, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Shitty Backstory, Smut, Snark, Stealing, Stranger Sex, The Author Regrets Everything, Thieves Guild, Vaginal Fingering, Will Not Follow Main Quest, as in I'll add each hookup here in the tags, because I love hurting my OCs, there will be several, until then
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21817378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues
Summary: She doesn't care. She doesn't, shewon't- not about the person who hired her to come to Skyrim, not about Skyrim's problems, not about the mistake that could follow her across the border. Life is tough all over, and she's just trying to survive and make a living. That's all.She won't care...until suddenly she finds that maybe, justmaybe, she does.OC is not the Dragonborn, and this will mostly follow the Thieves Guild and Dark Brotherhood questlines.
Relationships: Brynjolf (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 47





	1. Hiding in Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating tags as this goes along but this chapter is definitely a taste of things to come. "Chaotic Neutral" and "Promiscuous" are definitely the best tags for this OC. She'll be doing what she wants when she wants, and casual sex and the like will be the norm for this fic.
> 
> If you're curious:
> 
> OC's [Face Claim](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/3e/dd/16/3edd16e361096fffafed42ac89e2470e.jpg)  
> Dragonborn's [Face Claim](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/23/23/08/2323082f873ad8753b4faa8596727dd0.jpg)

The water was crisp, icy against her skin. It would have been frigid and biting rather than refreshing in any other circumstance. Now, sitting beside the river to splash her face and run a wet rag along the back of her neck, all she could focus on was the peace she felt. Only the steady sound of the stream and distant grating thuds of lumber being sawed could be heard. It felt almost eerie compared to what they had escaped.

“Hey, Vesta!”

She turned immediately at the call, by now used to the name she’d given to her charge when she was hired. Glancing over her shoulder she saw the small Breton making her way toward where she sat on the riverbank.

Giving a silent nod she turned back to the water, looking over it as she dipped the rag she held in its cool depths once more.

Beatrix took a seat beside her, unwrapping the hood she wore to reveal chin-length, coppery hair that caught the warm light of sunset. She sighed and continued to disrobe, stripping off her apprentice robes so that she could begin to wash the soot and blood off herself as well.

“Hadvar’s uncle said he’ll let us stay here until we’re ready to leave, although he’d like for us to travel to Whiterun to speak with the Jarl,” Beatrix said. She shot a rather timid glance aside before she cleared her throat. “I think it’s the least we can do -”

“The least you can do,” she interrupted, finally reaching to the tie of her long braid to undo it. Finger-combing her black, knotted curls she gave a pointed look to her companion. “I’ve done my job. You hired me to get you into Skyrim safely, and you’re here. I even made certain you survived a dragon attack. My services are complete.”

Beatrix caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she scrubbed at her hands, splashing the water over her forearms as well. The Breton mage had been kind, and in all honesty she liked her. Their weeks traveling together had not been the worst way to spend her time, and she had appreciated that Beatrix did not ask many questions. Although it seemed more to be because she was intimidated by her and not due to lack of curiosity.

Taking the job had been a perfect cover for escaping Cyrodiil, as well, letting her seek refuge until things died down. Getting caught at the border by the Legion had made her think perhaps the past had managed to reach across the continent, that she had been foolish to think her mistake wouldn’t follow her. Despite what everyone else was saying, the attack by a dragon while Beatrix’s head was on the block had been a blessing in disguise.

That they had both managed to escape with a recruit for the Legion mattered not to her, and she was amazed that even once safe in Riverwood he didn’t ask questions. She had expressed her gratitude, however briefly, before she had sought out merchants and a drink at the inn, allowing Beatrix to listen to his family’s concerns.

She wanted no part of it.

Her journey to Skyrim wasn’t an attempt to get closer to anyone, or do anything more than lie low and maybe look for easy work. Yet this job was done, and a good portion of the pay had gone to repairing the leather of her armor and restringing her bow, after what they had been through.

If Beatrix was willing to pay more…

She studied the young woman beside her as she wrung out the cloth she held. Beatrix was wide-eyed, pale, and inexperienced in how the world worked, only seeking knowledge where she could find it. At camp at nights she had rambled about this and that study of magic, seemingly undaunted by the lack of interest in her companion. Sure, she knew a few spells, the ones that perfectly aided her craft. And in that area she was always willing to learn, and Beatrix had passed on lessons without fully realizing what she was helping.

Considering her words carefully, she ran the rag she held over her cheeks once more. “I suppose I could escort you to Whiterun, but I’d have to charge you a day’s travel,” she said.

After all, Whiterun would have more opportunity than Riverwood, or anywhere else that was only a day’s travel away. It could be a starting point to figure out how to survive in this new land.

“I’m certain the Jarl will reward me for reporting about Helgen,” Beatrix hurried to say. “I can pay you for the journey, since I know it is beyond what we discussed.”

For a moment she held the mage’s gaze, and then nodded once. Beatrix gave a smile and nervous laugh, quickly looking down and away from her. She was used to it, the way her employer seemed unnerved by her stoic presence. It didn’t bother her; in fact she was comforted by the silence and discomfort present in the younger woman.

She wasn’t in this to make friends.

“Do you want to set out at dawn?”

Beatrix nodded and gave a small smile. “Yes, I think a night’s rest would do us well even though it is not far.”

“As you say.” She pushed herself to her feet and turned, intending to seek a bed in the inn. The kindness of strangers rubbed her the wrong way, and she had already determined that they had little of value to line her pockets.

Vesta continued to live, so it seemed; dragons and strangers’ generosity notwithstanding.

* * *

The journey was uneventful, and she couldn’t decide if she was relieved it had been or disappointed she couldn’t break in her new bowstring on the road. Weeks of protecting an innocent had left her bored, and after browsing the wares of Whiterun’s market she found herself sitting in the tavern, passing over coin for lukewarm nord mead. Vaguely she wished Beatrix had come with her so that she could chill the drink for her, but instead she settled for downing as much of the bitter liquid as she could in one gulp.

Hours passed and she continued drinking, trying to think through her next course of action. Whiterun was populated enough, though she hadn’t noticed many besides Beatrix and her passing through. Finding work as an escort or mercenary might be difficult, and she found herself counting her coins to see if she had enough to hire the carriage.

Perhaps she would, but only if she chose not to drink more.

The journey had been long, and there was small work to be found around the hold. Chopping wood, working on the farms - trespassing and pickpocketing. Surely those would tide her over until she truly decided what she wanted to do with her time in Skyrim.

Beatrix had left her that morning once they arrived to speak with the Jarl, and see to other business. She had received her final payment and walked away with little more than a ‘farewell,’ casually turning her back on her young charge to seek out other employment.

Running her finger along the edge of a coin, she drained the rest of her mead as she listened to the bard lazily pluck his lute. There was a restlessness in her, and she couldn’t determine its source. Was it the need for more work, or the novelty of being somewhere new? 

Deciding staying in place for one night could do no harm, she ordered another mead and passed over the coin with which she had been fidgeting.

“Put it on me, Hulda,” a deep voice called out.

A figure dropped heavily onto the stool beside her and she glanced up, one eyebrow quirked. A large blond Nord had taken the seat, and he offered her a smile and jovial wink as he passed over the coin for their drinks.

“Of - of course,” the innkeeper said, and she hurried to pour two more meads for them.

She accepted the mead that was offered to her, critically assessing the man next to her. One eyebrow still raised, she lifted her tankard. “Thank you, um…?”

“Balgruuf is fine,” he told her. “And you are?”

“Vesta,” she replied easily, deciding it was easiest to maintain the same name if Beatrix was still about the hold. “Thank you for the drink.”

“Aye,” he agreed, tapping his tankard against hers before he took a long gulp.

She studied him over the metal rim as she took a long gulp as well, discerning all she could about him. The reaction of the innkeeper had her wondering, but the way he carried himself - it didn’t take her long to realize who she was dealing with, despite his attempt at a disguise.

Yet another lord, another ruler, looking to escape the humdrum of his life and seek excitement among the lower class. She’d seen it all before, and as she lowered her tankard to the bar she decided to give him exactly what he longed for.

Looking over the spotless common garbs he wore, she smirked and wiped at her upper lip. “So, done with work for the day?”

He seemed to sit straighter as if trying to commit further to his disguise. “Aye, another long day,” he answered blandly. “How about yourself?”

“Oh, I just arrived today,” she told him, burying another smirk in a drink. “I’ve always wanted to see Whiterun.”

Balgruuf seemed to almost strain himself turning his head as quickly as he did, eyes roaming over her. “Just arrived today? And what brings you to Whiterun?”

“Seemed a better place to hang my armor than Helgen at the moment,” she replied easily. Taking another drink she watched his badly guarded reaction to her words.

“Were you there?”

“Aye,” she replied, mimicking his speech pattern as she leaned closer. “It was terrible. I’m still just - stunned, and so grateful to be alive.”

He stared at her intently and then cleared his throat. “I am as well.” After a moment of silence he drained more of his mead and ordered another. “I thought the dragons were legends.”

“I’m as lost as you are,” she agreed, draining the rest of her tankard and motioning for another. She watched him carefully as she accepted it, taking a sip and waiting patiently.

That he was the Jarl was undeniable, easily given away by the reverent way his people still hurried to comply with his every whim, even when he wasn’t dressed for his station. A once over showed that he did still carry some of his wealth with him, and she ascertained that it would be enough to get her on the road, looking for work elsewhere. From what she had seen of this Hold, it was likely best to seek out other more populated, more bustling holds for work.

Round after round they spent talking, and she gradually leaned closer to him, until she was resting her hand on his forearm. She stroked him with her thumb, giving a soft smile as she listened to him talk about Whiterun for longer than was really interesting. Yet when he mentioned Beatrix she perked up and paid closer attention.

“...had no allegiance to us, but she stopped by to warn us and pass along Riverwood’s request for aid,” he said. The mead had finally loosened his tongue, until he was barely concealing his place as the Jarl.

That wasn’t what concerned her, she told herself; all she wanted were the jewels she could tell were tucked beneath his linen shirt and the pouch of coins at his waist. For all of his attempts at passing for one of the people, he still wore his wealth in ways obvious to a thief.

She was almost surprised what an easy target he was. A part of her wanted to tell him to watch himself, to point out how flawed his precautions were. Yet she knew it was pointless, and at least this way she could benefit from his naïveté.

It didn’t take nearly as long as she expected before he was returning her simple caresses, resting his hand on her thigh and leaning close to her. When she nipped his bottom lip with her teeth he inhaled sharply before letting out a deep chuckle.

“Do you have a place to stay, lass?”

“I was going to get a room here, if you’d like to join me?” she murmured.

Immediately he leaned back and flagged down the innkeeper, passing over coin to secure the room. Hulda merely gestured at the ladder and encouraged them to seek out their room.

Taking his hand she led him to the ladder, shooting him a crooked smile and winking when she met his gaze. Once within the privacy of the room that comprised the loft, Balgruuf wrapped his arms around her and drew her in for a kiss.

It was hardly unpleasant, and she relaxed into his touch, returning his fire as best she could as she moved to strip him of the leather vest and linen shirt he wore. The sight of his muscles removed the last of her indecisiveness, and she trailed her fingers along him as she sought out his mouth for another kiss.

When he pinned her to the bed and swept her into a searing kiss, she merely wrapped her arms and legs around him. This was going more smoothly than she anticipated, and his touch was exciting her to such heights that she didn’t have to focus on her goals to attain her pleasure. She moved against his fingers and let out soft moans as his mouth traced along every inch of her, enjoying the wet sensation of his tongue as it slid along her.

The moment she dragged her fingers along his length he moaned and rolled against her, and she eagerly spread her legs further so that he could search her out. It had been a while since she had taken someone to bed, and as he began to move above her she savored the feeling of him thrusting deeper towards her very core. She moved eagerly against him, determined to at least seek her bliss before he found his, and vaguely she marveled over how he watched her as her back arched and she cried out in response to the feeling of her ecstasy.

As she stilled he found his own release, pulling himself from her and spilling his spend upon her stomach. When he collapsed upon her she tangled her fingers into his hair, staring above her at the wooden beams as she waited for him to regain himself. It didn’t take long before he chuckled, rolled off of her, and fell asleep.

Normally she would have been annoyed that he didn’t take the time to clean her off, but she knew how much she had plied him with spirits and so she merely moved carefully to seek out a rag to wipe off her abdomen. After using the washbasin to clean herself, she pulled her clothes on once more before withdrawing her armor from her knapsack.

She pulled it all on and then carefully searched his belongings, taking his coins and the jewels he carried. Considering his snoring form for a moment, she wondered if she should leave him a note, but immediately dismissed the idea. He had been foolish enough to take a stranger to bed; she owed him nothing.

After pocketing his riches she carefully crept down the wooden ladder to the common room. No one else was in sight, and she swiftly crossed to the door so that she could leave. The carriage driver was asleep in a makeshift tent beside the stables, but when she shook him awake he offered her a warm smile.

“Where can I take you?”


	2. The Right Person for the Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday I spent 2 hours in a pharmacy and today I've been road tripping allllll day, so um...have another chapter already haha.
> 
> Also since I'm traveling I'll get to comments when I'm on my laptop and not my phone, so don't worry - I see the love and truly appreciate it! 🥰❤
> 
> CW for some verbal abuse with racial discrimination

The sight of dark stone covered in snow was welcome, mostly because she was resisting the urge to murder the carriage driver if he sang "Ragnar the Red" one more time. He pulled the reins and finally slowed to a stop.

"Well, we're here."

"Thank you," she said, and hopped down from the back without another word.

It hadn't been an incredibly long journey, though it was dark once more. The city looked dismal, snow swirling about and whipping loose strands of hair across her face.

She crossed the stone bridge, eyes roving over everything there was to see, carefully assessing the new hold. Approaching the large gates, she watched as the guard stationed there looked her over critically before calling for them to be opened.

"Don't cause any trouble, Imperial," he warned as she passed by.

Merely smirking she pushed past and into the city, taking note of the building that rose before her, which looked to be an inn. It was late enough she thought it best to grab a room and search for work when the sun rose.

There was a commotion to her right and she glanced its direction, raising a lazy eyebrow as she watched a Nord drunkenly accost a short Dunmer woman.

"You don't belong here," he slurred. "Your kind are - are leeching off the rest of us, spying down in the Grey Quarter -"

"We are not spies, we're simply trying to survive -"

He shoved her again, and the Dunmer stumbled.

"Oi, pick on someone else, drunkard."

The man turned her way, seeming to take a moment to register who had shouted at him. He sneered and took a few steps in her direction.

"Another Imperial? Are you a spy too?"

Rolling her eyes she placed her hands on her hips as she braced her feet apart, readying herself. "No, just tired of listening to the sound of your voice." She reached into the pouch at her waist and threw a coin at his feet. "Go buy another ale and leave the rest of us in peace."

The Nord kicked the coin, sending up a spray of wet snow with the action. "Fuck your coin." He spat at her feet. "And fuck the Empire."

He took a few steps toward her, clearly thinking he had the upper hand due to his stature. She moved quicker than he expected, dodging around him and twisting one of his arms behind his back as she hunched him over. Pulling her curved Elven dagger from its sheath, she placed it at his neck and pressed it into his skin.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you over your tiresome drivel," she hissed in his ear. "There's no love lost between myself and the Empire, that much is true. But it's rude to turn down an offer for a drink, didn't you know?"

He struggled slightly against her hold, but was unable to free himself. "You - you -"

"Have a dagger to your throat," she pointed out calmly. She slid it just a smidgen, leaving a shallow cut beneath his jaw.

He cried out but stopped struggling, breathing heavily as if finally scared.

"Now - apologize to the lady, then take your coin and drown your idiocy in drink. I don't want to hear your ramblings the rest of the time I'm here, hm?"

He grumbled to himself for a moment, and then heaved a defeated sigh. "...sorry," he finally muttered.

"Well, that's probably the most eloquence we can expect from you," she said, and released him at last.

He shot her a glare, rubbing at the small cut she had given him, and then stooped to retrieve the coin from the snow. As he made a hasty retreat she sheathed her dagger and turned to the Dunmer woman.

"Thank you -"

"I didn't do it for you. The sound of his voice got on my nerves," she interrupted the woman.

With that she turned away and headed for the inn. Once inside she saw the man shrink into the shadows at the sight of her, but she smirked and made her way to the bar.

"An ale and a room, if you have one," she said.

The innkeeper looked her over with mild distaste, but grabbed the requested ale and set it firmly on the wood before her. "Forty-five septims," the innkeeper told her. "You passing through?"

"Looking for work, actually," she replied smoothly, taking a long gulp of the ale as she gauged the reaction.

The innkeeper considered her for a moment before she passed over a folded slip of parchment. "Got a bounty here from the jarl, if you're interested."

"Cheers." She gave a wink as she accepted, glancing at it before she slipped it into her pouch. "Anything else? Any rumors around town?"

The innkeeper looked around surreptitiously, and then leaned closer. "I heard someone saying Aventus Aretino is back."

She raised an eyebrow, silently asking for an explanation as the name was unfamiliar to her.

"Ran away from that orphanage, down in Riften? I heard someone say they'd walked by and heard him chanting - said it sounded like," she paused again to look around. Lowering her voice and getting closer, she whispered, "he was trying to contact the Dark Brotherhood."

"Ah," she said after a moment. "Interesting. I'm sure it's just a rumor, though."

Feigning disinterest she pulled out the coin for the drink and the room, and the innkeeper passed over the key and gave directions to the room.

She nodded and then gestured out the door. "Think I'll get some fresh air. And thanks for the tip."

Once outside she looked around, trying to discern where the residences were located. She wandered down a narrow street, listening carefully. Ahead of her she heard whispered voices, and saw a dark elf pulling a young boy away from a door.

" - but Aventus was my friend -"

"It's late, come along."

Smiling to herself she crept toward the door the young boy had been trying to reach. With a glance around she withdrew a lockpick and tried the door. Sure enough it was locked, and she carefully crouched and began to pick it, listening for the tumblers until they clicked. 

She opened the door a crack and slipped within, closing it silently behind her. A soft whisper reached her ears, and she let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting before she slowly made her way up the stairs.

"...sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me…"

_ For the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear. _

Finishing the prayer in her head, she smiled once more and straightened, no longer trying to cling to the shadows. She smoothed a hand over her hair and settled her face into a carefully guarded mask as she made her way further inside.

She walked confidently across the house, following the chants, until she found a small alcove lit by candles arranged in a circle. 

A young boy was kneeling beside a skeleton, a tome beside him, and he stabbed again and again at a heart with the iron dagger in his hand. At the sound of a creaking floorboard beneath her feet he turned, his eyes wide.

"Are - are you…" he trailed off, staring for another moment before he let out a whoop and stood. "It's you! You've come! I knew it would work, I just knew it!"

"Of course, my child," she murmured. "You asked for the Dark Brotherhood, and the Dark Brotherhood is here."

It was a lie, of course. As far as she knew the Dark Brotherhood had all been destroyed. But he wanted an assassin, and well…

That was her favorite kind of work.

"You're - you're right, I did!" He hesitated, as if trying to decide where to begin. "My - my mother died, you see. And I got sent to Honorhall Orphanage."

She folded her arms and leaned against the doorway, waiting patiently for him to continue.

"It's run by Grelod the Kind, but - there's nothing kind about her. She's terrible! And she says she won't let any of us be adopted, says we don't deserve it. She's horrible to us. I - I want you to - to kill her."

"Do you have payment, Aventus?"

He seemed surprised she called him by name, but quickly shook it off. "I - I do. It's not much but -"

"That is fine," she assured him. Considering him for a long moment, she stepped forward, holding his tentative gaze even as he gulped and stared silently at her. He was so young, to have gone through what he had, and now to be asking this…

Placing a finger beneath his chin she tilted his face up, studying him before she spoke.

"Once I walk out that door, there is no going back. Are you certain you are ready for that, Aventus Aretino?"

He swallowed once more, seemingly trying to find his voice, or steady it. "I am."

She nodded solemnly and removed her finger, turning her back on him. "Then we will conclude our business when I return from Riften."


	3. Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother

The carriage ride only took until midday, and this driver at least sang far less than the other. She spent some time asking him what he knew of Riften, and was reassured when he mentioned a thieves' guild. Perhaps it meant that an assassination wouldn't draw too much attention.

She was further assured when the guard at the gate stopped her, and demanded a toll to enter the city. Raising an eyebrow, she glanced around before carefully fingering the dagger hanging at her waist.

“This is clearly a shakedown,” she murmured. Taking a few steps closer to the guard she looked them up and down. “Are you certain you really want to try me?”

The guard returned the appraising stare, and then waved a hand dismissively. “All right, all right. Keep your voice down and I’ll open the gate.”

“Smart move, darling,” she purred as she brushed by them, gently tapping her hand against the armor on their chest.

After she'd passed through the gates of Riften, she took a few moments to look around. The town consisted of tall, wooden buildings and seemed to center around a marketplace of stalls, the sound of merchants hawking their wares carrying across the waterways. Slowly she made her way across the walkways, stopping at a stall to buy an apple as she tried to familiarize herself with the town.

The orphanage was located near the keep, with a rusty sign that read “Honorhall Orphanage” creaking as it swung in the breeze above the door. There looked to be two entrances, although without getting inside she didn’t have a clear idea of where the back door would place her. She finished her apple as she leaned against the railing, considering the building and forming a plan.

A general store nearby carried a perfectly respectable blue dress and fine pair of shoes, and she subtly stuffed them into her knapsack before she sought out the inn. The Argonian innkeeper seemed glad of her coin, telling her that not many travelers passed through Riften because of the dangers of the Thieves’ Guild.

Deciding it would draw attention if she seemed too curious about the Guild, she instead feigned shock and asked if she would be in any danger during her time in the city. After being assured the inn was the safest place, the Argonian left her outside the door to her room, and told her she could get her anything she needed.

Carefully she fixed her hair into a series of twists that she then plaited into a bun, smoothing the dark strands so that she gave off an air of respectability and potential motherhood. Once she was in the dress and shoes she had stolen, she took one last moment to prepare herself and her story.

The door to the orphanage was answered by a young woman, who gave a timid smile and quick curtsy. She stumbled over her words as she invited her in, though she immediately apologized that the children were in a lesson.

A harsh voice could be heard from the back, and the soft voices of children answered in turn. Looking around she saw the bare furnishings of the orphanage, and fought the scowl that wanted to cross her face at the state of things.

“I’m Constance, I’ll - I’ll let Grelod know we have a visitor. Maybe today she’ll be more - receptive,” the young woman said. She offered another timid smile and then hurried around the corner.

Slowly wandering across the front room, she studied the windows and doors, determining where each led. Once she followed Constance, she finally saw the orphans standing in a straight line before a woman with a wrinkled face like a hawk.

Gritting her teeth at the sight of the ragged clothes the orphans wore, she looked over the rows of beds and meager sheets that rested atop each. There were no toys, hardly any furniture, and yet everything was almost spotless. Just barren, and shabby.

“Thank you, Grelod,” the children chanted in unison.

“And one more thing! I will hear no more talk of adoptions! None of you riff-raff is getting adopted. Nobody needs you, nobody wants you -”

“You seem to be mistaken,” she interrupted the woman’s diatribe.

The children turned and Constance gave a fearful shake of her head from beside Grelod.

“And who are you? This isn’t the inn; begone from this place!” Grelod sneered.

“This is Honorhall Orphanage, correct? I was looking to adopt an orphan in need,” she answered, slowly walking forward as she looked over the children before her. A quiet rage was building in her chest, and at the sight of small bruises on a few of the children’s arms and wrists she frowned.

“Ha!”

Raising an eyebrow, she considered the hateful woman before her, and carefully walked forward. She tilted the nearest boy’s face up, looking it over, and turned it this way and that. “Is that not the purpose of an orphanage? You see, I’ve come from Windhelm, where I reside. My husband, poor sod, went off to war. We never even got a chance to have a child, but I - I always wanted to be a mother.” She paused dramatically, brushing her knuckles against the orphan’s face, noticing the small gleam he got in his eye when she mentioned Windhelm. “‘Susanna,’ my husband always said, ‘you could raise the next great hero.’”

“None of these useless whelps could even be the next great stablehand. They’re not fit to clean up after horses, much less go to a respectable home,” Grelod told her, hands on her hips.

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“Please, Grelod, at least let her -” Constance began, but she cut off at the glare Grelod gave her.

“Might I at least look around? Get to know the orphans? I will be in town for a few days, perhaps I can convince you to let me fulfill my dreams.” She gave Grelod a pointed stare, challenging her to deny such a simple request in front of the orphans.

After a moment spent grumbling, Grelod heaved a sigh. “Fine. Look to your heart’s content. But you’ll see I’m right about this useless riff-raff, Susanna.”

Smirking she turned to look around the room, and then studied the orphans. The young boy beside her seemed the most likely to be of assistance, and she reached out a hand to him. “What is your name, dear?”

“Samuel,” he answered, and took her hand.

“Would you show me around, Samuel?”

He nodded eagerly and began to lead her through the orphanage. “You - you saw our room, and we’re not allowed in Grelod’s.” As he said it he glanced in the direction of a room behind a closed door.

“What time does she retire?” she asked softly, leading him toward where she thought the back door might be.

“Well we all go to bed at eight, and she goes after that.” Samuel frowned and glanced up at her. “Did you say you were from Windhelm?”

Considering him for a moment, she smirked. “Most recently,” she whispered.

“Do you know - have you met Aventus Aretino?” He lowered his voice and tugged at her hand, drawing her down so that she could hear him. “He left here - ran away. Said he was going to contact the - the -”

“I have...heard the rumors,” she finished for him. “Tell me, Samuel. Do you think you could do me a favor?”

* * *

“Why settle for just stabbing your foes when you can roast them alive in arcane fire?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a swaggering man with an ale in his hand, wearing robes similar to the ones Beatrix had worn. He was addressing the people of the tavern, who all turned their backs on him as if they were used to his pitches.

She frowned upon realizing he had the look of an Imperial about him, and when no one in the common room took him up on his self-advertisement he sighed and shook his head. He was attractive enough, and she sized him up to see if he also looked like an easy mark that would suit her purposes.

When he caught her looking him over from head to toe, he smirked and made his way to the table at which she sat along the wall of the tavern.

“My lady, what brings you to such a blasted skeever-den of a town?” he asked, sweeping into a low bow.

Feigning sadness, she encouraged him to take the seat across from her. “Have you seen the orphanage?”

“Those poor wretches,” he agreed, nodding.

“I came seeking one to raise as my own, but the mistress,” she forced her voice to catch in her throat, and placed a hand shakily over her lips. “She denies adoption, and won’t let any of them go.”

“I am so sorry,” he said, leaning forward. “Please, my name is Marcurio. Do you wish for some company? Perhaps I can help somehow, even if just by lending an ear to your troubles.”

Batting her eyelashes she gave a small nod. “I think I could do with some company, I am - am deeply saddened after I saw how many of them there are,” she murmured. “My name is Susanna. I came this morning from Windhelm...I am recently widowed, you see…”

Susanna, recently widowed and left alone in the foreign homeland of her Nord husband, was just the temptation for a lonely Imperial mercenary short on luck and stranded in Riften. Marcurio ate up her lies, listening to her describe the brutish and passionless Nord she had married only a few moons before. When he suggestively asked how she had been treated in her husband’s bed, she pretended to be shocked - before timidly admitting things had been more than lacking in that area.

That was all it took before he was charming and wooing her, reciting tender words and professing he had never seen such a comely widow in all his days. He promised her passion and romance she would never forget, and she waited several moments to seem as if she was seriously fighting against herself before she agreed.

Once in his room he proved to be just as eager as he had claimed to be, kissing her as he tore her out of the dress she had stolen. His hands were soft like a scholar's, fingers hot as they grabbed at every bit of naked flesh he could reach. He was stronger than she expected, half-lifting her to move her toward the small bed in his quarters.

They pulled his robes apart, throwing them aside so that they were both bare just as they hit the mattress. She easily maneuvered so that she was lying atop him, kissing him greedily.

“And to think - your husband wasted all this passion!” Marcurio laughed after he said it, clearly thinking he had unlocked something within her that no one else had.

She gave a girlish giggle as she straddled him. “Is this…”

“You’re a natural,” he praised, and gripped her hips to encourage her onto him.

Starting slowly she rolled her hips against his, as if trying to get used to sitting astride him; but after a few long moments she increased her pace as she longed to. Rocking and bouncing on him, she arched her neck and closed her eyes, merely focusing on chasing her pleasure. As she felt it begin she cried out, ignoring the cry of _Susanna!_ that threatened to interrupt the sense of peace she was experiencing.

She went limp and he rolled her over, thrusting with renewed enthusiasm, seeming lost in pursuit of his own release. When he found it he again cried the name she had given him, panting as he fell onto her, pressing her into the mattress.

As they regained themselves she was thankful at how exhausted he looked, only having to play the part of widow for a bit longer. She pretended to be moved by his passion, thrilled that she had finally experienced pleasure with someone between her legs. Soon his responses became slower, his breathing steadier, and snores came as he slipped into slumber with an arm loose about her waist.

It wouldn’t do to have him wake, and so she lay for longer, staring up at the flickering light of the candles as it played across the wooden beams. After a time listening to his deep breathing and soft snores, she began to pull herself from his embrace as discreetly as she could. Once free she pulled the dress back over her head and slipped from the room, quietly making her way to the one she had rented for the night.

In the safety of her room she dressed in her full armor, pulling the buckles on the black leather tight. She sorted through the small vials she carried in her knapsack, until she found a grey one that she knew held a liquid with a greenish hue. Her dagger she sharpened, because despite the fact that her target deserved what was coming, she loathed using a dull dagger for her work.

On second thought she pocketed a small vial of blue liquid as well, thinking of the shackles she had found in a closet off the children’s bedroom, of the frightened look Samuel had given when she looked back at him after discovering them. It had only confirmed the first thought that had crept into her mind, the suspicion of what use Grelod the Kind had for such small shackles. In case she needed more time she might need to expand her limited supply of magicka, and she decided being prepared was best.

Before leaving her room she pulled the black hood she wore over her head, securing the silken black mask over the lower half of her face. It still smelt of Cyrodiil, somehow, and she closed her eyes for a moment as she inhaled deeply.

_Home no longer._

Snapping her eyes open she took another deep breath, only this time she smelled the fires burning and the stew overcooking in a pot off the common room. It grounded her where she was, and a small thrill went through her as she began to sneak through the inn, clinging to the shadows.

Her tryst with the mercenary had taken long enough that the town was quiet, only the guards patrolling with their torches making noise in the dark night. She moved slowly and silently through the shadows, halting when a guard was near and waiting for them to pass.

Grelod the Kind would die, and she was in no hurry.

When she reached the door to the orphanage, she glanced around and then tried the handle. It swung open easily, and she smiled as she thought of Samuel. He had handled her request well.

She closed the door silently behind her, and then took a moment to look around the room. No one was in sight, and she crossed to the children’s bedroom, slowly so that her footsteps barely made a sound.

As she walked between the rows of small beds, a few of the orphans shifted, pushing themselves onto their elbows or sitting up. She noticed their faces focused on her intently, but she placed a finger over the mask covering her face, and they all nodded. And, to her surprise, a few of them smiled.

Samuel sat on his bed, watching her movements, and she reached a hand to run her gloved fingers over his dark hair. He nodded, and she pulled away, continuing her path to Grelod’s room. The door opened just as easily as the front had, and she locked it behind herself.

Grelod was sprawled on her bed, snoring with her mouth open, which only made her smile when she thought of how much that eased part of her work.

Stopping beside the hag’s bedside, she removed the small grey vial from a pouch at her waist and uncorked it. The pale green liquid slid down the woman’s throat, and immediately she seized up, her eyes opening though the rest of her was immobilized.

“Grelod the Kind.” As she said it, she circled so that she was in the woman’s limited view. “What an ironic name. Did you give it to yourself?”

An indistinct curse came from the woman’s throat, and she smirked. The poison would wear off in a moment, and she raised a hand and channeled the energy into it just as Beatrix had helped to show her. She felt the surge come to a head, and when it did she smoothed her hand in the air over Grelod’s prone form. Immediately the rage in the woman’s eyes died, and as the poison wore off she relaxed, folding her hands over her stomach, waiting calmly.

Just as she wanted her to.

“I’ve seen so many people just like you in my years, filled with hatred, rage, fear. Taking it out on those weaker than themselves just to feel a little bit of power, to feel like they’re better than at least _someone_ in this cold, dark world.” As she said it she swung a leg over the woman’s abdomen, leaning over her so that she could look into her eyes.

She unhooked the mask and let it fall off her face, then smoothed the hood back, releasing her simple long black plait.

“Remember me? I said my name was Susanna, but,” she heaved a sigh and then smiled. “I like to be honest with people, before I send them to the Void. It’s the least even someone like you deserves.”

Taking a breath she unsheathed her dagger, holding it up to study the way the moonstone caught the light.

“My name is Aurelia. I don’t come from anywhere important, just Cyrodiil. Just a city full of people like you, people who think they can pick on those who can’t defend themselves.” She turned the dagger she held, and looked at Grelod’s placid gaze. “Only I learned how to take that power back. Maybe I’m a bit like you, maybe I like feeling powerful over someone, considering how much I like killing. Either way, the unfortunate thing for you is that you’re just the next in a long, long list of monsters I’ve had the pleasure of taking power over.”

Fear was beginning to creep back into Grelod’s eyes, and she knew that her simple Calm spell was wearing off. It was part of what she wanted, and she smiled as she noticed the fight coming back into the wrinkled face below her.

“Perhaps you should have done better in this life, because all I can say is that you will be judged for what you’ve done here.” Leaning forward she pressed the tip of her dagger just beneath Grelod’s ribcage, where her heart - if she had one - should be. “Make peace with whatever Gods or Divines you hold dear, Grelod. Aventus Aretino sends his regards, and you’ll be with them very, very soon.”

Painfully slow she slid the dagger in, past the give of flesh and the squelch of organs as Grelod gave a rattling, curdling, gasp of a scream. The spell had worn off just as she had planned it to, so that the last emotion such a wretched woman felt was pure terror and agony.

With a shudder Grelod went limp, eyes glazed over and fixed in a wide stare of horror. Waiting until she was satisfied, she studied the woman’s face before finally withdrawing her dagger. She wiped it on the bedsheets and sheathed it, then carefully climbed to her feet. On occasion she closed her mark’s eyes, or arranged them in a more dignified manner, depending on time and the reason for her contract. Now, though, she felt no such reverence, and instead left the room and her kill as they were, and allowed the door to remain open.

The orphans had all climbed off their beds, and slowly made their way forward. After a few timid peeks behind her, they began to whisper and cheer softly. Thin arms wrapped around her, one after another, until she was surrounded by them, all embracing her tightly as they murmured their thanks.

“Shhh,” she hushed, encouraging them to release her. “Get back in bed and be quiet. You didn’t see me here tonight, do you understand? Constance is a good woman, she’ll look after you all.”

“Thank you, Susanna,” Samuel said, smiling brightly. “I think things are going to get better around here.”

“I knew Aventus could do it,” one of the girls muttered.

The sound of a door opening made them all scatter, and Aurelia pulled her hood back over her head, fixing the mask back into place. She watched as the children all covered their heads with their sheets, tucked firmly back into bed. Samuel peeked his head out, and pointed toward the back.

Nodding, she gave him a wink and disappeared into the shadows, escaping out the back just as Constance let out a terrified shriek that someone had murdered Grelod.

Shadows led her back to the inn with ease, so that she marveled at how the city seemed built for clandestine wrongdoings. She reached the door and slipped within, smiling to herself as she remembered the look of fear in Grelod’s eyes and the gratitude in the orphans’.

Hoping that sneaking back up to Marcurio’s room without him ever waking was just as easy as every other part of her plan, she removed her mask and pushed her hood back.

“Never done an honest day’s work in your life for all that coin you carry, eh, lass?”

The low voice came from the shadows to her right, and she poised a hand beside her dagger as she turned to face it.

A man in fine clothes with reddish-brown hair and a dusting of a beard to match was leaning against the wall, watching her intently. She recognized him from earlier at the market and in the tavern, and raised an eyebrow as she took in the way he was sizing her up.

“And what’s it to you?”

“Wealth is my business, lass.” He pushed himself off the wall and approached her slowly, quirking an eyebrow as he did. “Maybe you’d like a taste?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> 1) I hate Grelod the Kind so much. I'd forgotten that there's a little closet room with shackles in it but oooooooh that makes me so irate.
> 
> 2) When I was playing this character the first time in Skyrim Aurelia's name was Abrielle, but I've decided that's too close to - you know - Abby/Abigail, so I changed it. Abrielle may end up one of the aliases she uses though because I like that name for her, and it actually came before Abigail in my DA fics.
> 
> 3) Happy New Year's! Hope you're all doing well. If you're a new reader eeee thank you! And if you're following me to a new fandom, thank you!!! Mwuah!
> 
> xx,  
> Lara


	4. Nothing Personal

Aurelia had no idea what she was doing.

She had intended to leave in the morning, once she was certain Marcurio was convinced she had been with him all night. The need for an alibi was likely minuscule, but she had decided to play it safe. If not for herself, for Aventus. Getting caught and leading anyone back to him as the one who had contracted her to kill Grelod was something she wished to avoid entirely.

Yet somehow that plan had changed. She wasn’t certain why, unable to understand her motivations to give up her plans to leave in exchange for a simple heist at the market. The proposition had seemed easy, though, and the quick coin was incredibly tempting. Once it was complete, she had followed a second tempting offer to seek out the Guild in the Ratways.

Something about the promise for more lingering in bright green eyes had made her decide to stay against her better judgment. Even if she was finally beginning to question that bit of logic.

Now as she worked at picking the lock on a gate in the tunnels, she wondered why she didn’t just turn around and leave town as she had planned. She had made quick coin, had pulled off the con without anyone being the wiser, and as far as she could tell the guards seemed to be at a loss for suspects into Grelod’s murder.

_What harm could there be in seeing what work they have?_

As she thought it the lock finally clicked, and she removed her pick so that she could open the gate. She was only following a hunch that this led in the right direction, but she was strangely heartened by the fact that it was locked. After fighting off the two thugs just inside the Ratways, she was leery of what else might be waiting for her.

Creeping up the stairs, she halted when she thought she heard someone muttering to themself. Sighing to herself she waited, listening to make certain they were alone, and then she slowly continued toward the light at the top of the stairs. Once she could see into the damp, dimly lit room, she realized it was simply a beggar, leaning over a table. He seemed to be focusing intently on whatever was on the table before him, and she wondered if she could sneak by.

There weren’t enough shadows from what she could see, though, and she crept closer to look at the entrances leading off the room. Standing straight, she decided to try speaking with the man first, hoping that he would merely let her pass. After all, he was just a man trying to live his life, as far as she could tell. That hardly warranted a death sentence.

Upon entering the room, the beggar spun in place and reached for the dagger beside him with a yell.

“Wait!” she cried, holding up her hands before herself. “Wait, please. I’m not looking for a fight.”

“What - what do you want? You’re here to take my shiny, aren’t you?”

“No, I promise I’m not,” she assured him. Taking a chance of a few more steps toward him, she kept her hands before her, hoping that the way he clutched at the dagger and looked at her doubtfully meant he could be persuaded. “I’m looking for the Ragged Flagon, that’s all. I’m not looking to take your - shiny.”

“You’re - you’re one of them.” He lowered the dagger and then nodded several times, as if to himself. “One of them. They’re nice. Give me ale sometimes. Helped me when the guards were looking for my shiny.”

“Yes, that’s - that’s it. One of them,” she agreed, though she wasn’t entirely certain what she was agreeing to. She carefully reached for a pouch at her hip and opened it, slipping her fingers within. “There’s some coin in it for you if you can tell me where the Flagon is. And I have some fresh bread and cheese, got it this morning at the market.”

“More shiny?” He asked, and he set his dagger down. After a moment he slowly shuffled toward her, and then pointed to his right, where a set of steps led to a wooden door. “Down there. If you’re one of them you want to go down there.”

“Cheers,” she told him, and withdrew several gleaming coins from her purse. She passed them to him and then searched for the bread and cheese she had wrapped in a cloth that she meant to take with her on her journey. Instead she handed the small bundle to him with a smile, and squeezed his forearm before she turned away.

“Bless you,” the man called after her, but she merely raised a hand in dismissive acknowledgment as she made her way down the stairs.

Whatever she had expected of the Flagon, this wasn’t it. She was somehow both impressed and let down by its appearance, walking slowly as she took in the vaulted ceilings. For as intimidating as it seemed, though, the fact that it took her several moments to see anyone otherwise ruined the impression of ominous grandeur.

The walls were slick with dripping water and damp moss and mold, droplets echoing across the cavernous room when they hit the puddles below. There was a smell reminiscent of a stagnant river or bog, and she scrunched her nose as she began to circle around the reservoir of water in the center of the vast space.

Tables surrounded a bar, and several people in dark armor sat around, listening to the man who had approached her in the inn. He was no longer wearing the finery he had worn in the market, having traded it for armor similar to the others’. Aurelia stayed in the shadows for a few moments, watching as they discussed - well, she hoped she wasn’t reading into it, but it almost seemed as if they were discussing _her_.

“Leave it alone, Brynjolf,” a bald man chided, and he leaned back in his chair, drinking from a tankard as he shook his head.

“If I’m mad,” Brynjolf said slowly, staring directly at Aurelia as she emerged from the shadows. “Then what do you call that?”

The eyes of the few at the tables fixed on her, appraising her with guarded curiosity and mild suspicion. She met them each in turn, pursing her lips as she walked forward and took in the shabby surroundings.

_This is their outfit?_

Underwhelmed, she raised an eyebrow and sauntered to an empty table so she could lean against it, folding her arms. The feeling of having made a mistake not leaving Riften after the heist was becoming stronger.

“Well, well. Color me impressed, lass,” Brynjolf greeted her.

She shrugged. “Getting here was easy but,” she looked around again, “possibly not worth it.”

“If you were expecting a palace, perhaps you’re not cut out for this kind of work.”

“Not a palace, just - thought it’d be busier. Less...damp.” Aurelia smirked at the brief irritation that flitted across his face, finding herself wanting to push his buttons after he’d tempted her down here only to be disappointed.

“If you’re done bellyaching?” He folded his arms and glowered at her, and at her nonchalant shrug he heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “I asked you if you were interested in more work, and you’re here so I take it you’re keen?”

“Depends,” she paused and looked around the tavern, if it could be called that, before meeting his gaze once more. “Will I get a cut?”

“Of course, lass. We take care of our own,” he assured her.

“All right. What’s the job this time?”

“I need a few deadbeats taken care of.”

She raised an eyebrow once more. “Deadbeats? Really?”

“Aye. They owe our organization some serious coin, and I need you to convince them to pay up.” Brynjolf uncrossed his arms and took a few more steps toward her. As all the Nords did, he towered over her; only for some reason she was far more aware of it than she usually was as he loomed over her. “Think you can handle that, lass?”

She considered for a long moment, holding his gaze as she chewed her tongue. More easy coin, and surely this task wouldn’t take that long. She could still be on the road before nightfall.

Finally she sighed and pushed away from the table and raised her gaze to his, standing close enough to see the light reflecting on the flecks of blue and gold in his green eyes. “Fine, just tell me who to pay a visit to.”

* * *

“So you’re not going to pay up?”

“No, and you can tell Brynjolf I’m not scared of him.” Bersi Honey-Hand stood straighter, folding his arms as he sneered at her, eyes narrowed. “Now, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Aurelia sighed and shrugged. “That’s a shame,” she told him, holding his gaze for longer than was necessary, until he shifted on his feet. Uncrossing her arms, she rested one palm on the dresser she leaned against, and with the other reached to the side, toward the Dwarven urn Brynjolf had told her about.

Without dropping his gaze she hooked one finger in the rim of the urn and tipped it off its pedestal to the floor, where it immediately shattered with a satisfying crash.

“Oops.”

Horror came upon Bersi’s face as he stared down at the wreckage of his valued possession. “No! No - that was - that was priceless!”

“How unfortunate for you,” she murmured. Pushing off the dresser she stepped up to the counter and rested her hands on it. “Perhaps if you’d paid up, such a tragedy wouldn’t have befallen you.”

Unadulterated hatred came into the man’s eyes, but he held his tongue from whatever insults she felt certain he longed to hurl at her. Instead he reached beneath the counter for a coin purse, and flung it at her. “There - everything I owe. Just - please don’t destroy anything else.”

Aurelia picked up the purse and casually weighed it in her hand. “Pleasure doing business with you,” she said with a smirk. Turning away from the glare he was giving her she nodded a farewell to his wife where she sat and then left.

As she tied the purse to her belt and continued over the walkways, she tried to banish the ideas of running off with the coin that kept flitting across her mind. She didn’t owe Brynjolf or anyone else in the Guild anything, and wondered why she felt the need to carry out the job for just a cut. It was as if curiosity drove her forward, although curiosity about what she wasn’t entirely sure.

Upon entering the bunkhouse she was pleased to see only the proprietress was in the main room. Slowly walking forward she noticed the suspicious glare the woman shot her, before she put her hands on the bar and scowled.

“This isn’t the place for you, love,” the woman greeted. “You’re better off at the Bee and Barb.”

“I’m not looking for your uh - hospitality,” Aurelia assured her. She stopped before the counter and tapped her fingers on its wooden surface. “Brynjolf sent me. Said you’re behind on payment.”

Again more denials, more angry diatribes and empty threats met her calm request for the payment owed. She watched with bored detachment as Haelga got angrier, until she was also demanding that she leave.

_What kind of a reputation does this Guild have if no one takes them seriously?_

Everywhere she had gone people had whispered about the Guild, about it being dangerous, and yet it seemed to be all bluster. All tooth and no bite.

Heaving a sigh she pushed away from the bar and slowly began to walk around the bunkhouse, ignoring Haelga’s continued demands that she leave. A glint of gold caught her eye, and she finally saw the statue she sought. Picking it up she looked it over, casually turning it this way and that as she did.

“Wait, what - what are you…”

“You know, there’s a well in the middle of town. I was wondering how deep it goes, and this seems to be perfect for testing that out,” Aurelia murmured. She looked up to meet the terrified look in the other woman’s eyes. “Don’t you think?”

“Please - please, not Lady Dibella. I can’t, I can’t, not without her,” Haelga gasped. “Fine - here. Take your gold, everything I owe. I hope you _choke_ on it.”

“Cheers, _love_ ,” Aurelia praised, taking the coin purse and setting the statue on the bar in exchange. She winked as she tied the purse to her belt, and then left the bunkhouse.

As she crossed to the Bee and Barb, she was almost certain she saw Bersi scurrying back to the general store, and smirked at the sight. Perhaps Keerava would be easier, if she’d been warned. After all, she’d been a gracious hostess, and Aurelia didn’t much feel like threatening her.

The moment she walked inside Keerava seemed to jump behind the bar, and hurried to stoop and grab a coin purse. She circled the bar and jogged to where Aurelia stood, holding it out to her.

“There it is, in full,” Keerava told her, her voice raspy and frightened. “And please tell Brynjolf it was all a mistake, I didn’t mean to tell him to jump off the pier. Are we - are we good?”

Aurelia took the purse with a bright smile. “Yes, Keerava. Thank you, Brynjolf appreciates your cooperation.”

Keerava nodded but then gave her a disdainful sneer. “I should have known you’d be trouble, just like the rest of them.”

Aurelia raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. “Everyone has to make a living. It’s nothing personal. Your stew was wonderful, I'll definitely come back for it in the future.”

With that she turned to leave, happy to be done with her work so that she could finally get back to Windhelm. Just as she again debated pocketing all this coin for herself, a familiar voice called out to her.

“Susanna! Susanna - I - I thought you’d left.”

Grimacing she turned to face Marcurio, noticing the way his eyes roamed over her leather armor, a deep frown on his face. “Hello, Marcurio.”

“You said you were going back to Windhelm,” he said, stopping before her with his hands on his hips. “You’re - where’d you get the armor?”

Giving a rueful smile, she patted him on the shoulder. “It was good to see you again -”

“What is going on? I deserve an answer, please. I thought - I thought last night was special.”

The crestfallen look on his face made her roll her eyes, heaving a sigh as she rubbed at her brow. “Marcurio, listen, you seem,” she couldn’t think of a word, and just gestured at him. “But don’t be so naive. Not everyone is who they say they are, and you shouldn’t believe every pretty lass you meet in a tavern.”

“But we...you said…”

“If it’s any consolation you were a fun way to pass the time,” she said, again reaching to his shoulder to give it a squeeze. “Listen, though, I have business to attend to, so I’ll be going now.”

“So what, you’re just - oh.” His eyes widened as the realization came upon him. “You! You’re the one who -”

“Shh!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into a corner, glaring at him. “Don’t say another word, if you know what’s good for you.”

“You used me,” he accused.

“And you weren’t using me?” She raised an eyebrow, noticing the way he swallowed and avoided her gaze. “Get used to it, darling. That’s life. But if I’m ever around again and you fancy a lay -”

He scoffed, but then gave her an appraising, sidelong glance. “I suppose...the old crone had it coming. And it was a fun night.”

“That’s the spirit,” she encouraged him. She leaned forward and pressed a lingering, suggestive kiss to his lips. “See you around.”

Marcurio nodded and gave her a tiny smirk before he turned to the bar, and she left the tavern. Again the thought of just keeping the coin crossed her mind, but she found her feet carrying her back to the Ratways.

Perhaps it was the promise of more coin to come, of an established means of getting steady jobs. Such a connection wasn’t a bad thing, really. Yet the uncertainty of what would be expected of her in turn made her apprehensive.

She found herself taking a deep breath as she circled the cistern to the tavern, reminding herself she wasn’t in Skyrim to get close to anyone. Just to lay low for a while, until she could go home.

The thought of home steadied her, and she held her chin high as she crossed to where Brynjolf sat at a table with his back to her. He jumped when she dropped the heavy purses in front of him, and then glanced over his shoulder at her with a smirk and a curious gleam in his eye.

As if he was evaluating her.

“Well, lass, that was quick. And I heard you did it clean, which is good. Bodies just create a mess to clean up, and means the coin stops flowing.” 

He gestured at the chair beside him, but Aurelia shook her head and folded her arms. “Just my cut, please.”

“Somewhere to be? We have business to discuss,” he told her, again gesturing to the chair. When she continued to stand beside him he reached for a small pouch that rested on the table and passed it to her.

Eagerly she opened it, but the feeling immediately turned to more disappointment when all she saw were a few vials within. “Potions? Seriously?” With a derisive snort she flung the pouch back on the table. “What kind of an outfit are you running here, anyway?”

A loud scraping of wood on stone sounded as Brynjolf pushed his chair back and straightened to his considerable height. He glowered as he stepped to face her, but she set her jaw and returned his fierce gaze. “You got a problem with honest pay, lass?”

“Pay? That’s a mere pittance,” she scoffed. “You think you’re running this town, hiding down here in the sewers and threatening merchants for a few septims? This place is a joke.”

A dangerous glint clouded his green eyes, the scars on his cheek flexing as he gritted his teeth. “Oh, and killing defenseless old hags at the behest of children isn’t? You think you’re better than us because you gutted that crone without getting caught? Congratulations, lass, you’re a fearsome sight to behold indeed.”

“At least there’s honesty and simplicity in my work,” she gritted out. “Shaking down merchants? Planting a ring on someone? This is what your Guild has become? No thank you, I’d rather not waste my time.”

“You think your work is simple and honest? Murdering from the shadows, taking hapless mercenaries to bed in case the guards come asking questions?” He let out a hollow bark of laughter. “Don’t make me laugh, Princess.”

She glared at him, hands on her hips, but noticed the other members of the Guild had all stopped and were watching their heated exchange. Letting out her own snort of laughter she waved a hand lazily. “Whatever. I think I’ll pass on your cozy little family. I’d rather not waste away til the end of my days merely pretending to be great.” Giving him a pointed look, she smirked when she saw anger harden his eyes once more. “Find some other gullible sap to run your trivial errands.”

Turning her back on him, she ignored the glares she was receiving as she left the tavern, finally determined to leave this shithole of a town like she should have that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added the tag Enemies to Lovers because these two are um...yeah, that. Hehe


	5. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added the Graphic Depictions of Violence for this fic as just sort of a precaution - originally I thought "canon typical" covered it all since I don't usually write blood and gore but Aurelia is different from my other characters. I'll also continue updating tags and including some warnings in author's notes as we move forward. Also if I've missed any tags please feel free to ask me to add any you think this needs and I will definitely add them.
> 
> CW: brief flashback of (vaguely, implied) sexual assault/child sex abuse. This won't be a staple of the piece, at most the traumas in her backstory will be heavily implied. **(The flashback is in italics after Astrid asks about her "first" and can be skipped if you need to.)**

The sound of thunder and rain pattering above was the first thing she noticed as she tried to swim out of the blackness of unconsciousness. It was difficult, her eyelids heavy, and when she told her arms to move they wouldn’t. At least, not at first. Once she finally managed to move an arm it was as if it was dead weight, lacking its usual finesse as it flopped across her and landed over empty air.

She would have frowned if she thought her facial muscles could manage it, but instead she tried to focus on what she could hear around her. Still the rain, indicating a downpour, repeated thunder rolling in the distance, and perhaps - someone else was here. Possibly a few others, if she was hearing correctly.

Empty air beneath her arm was still a mystery to her, because she had fallen asleep on a bedroll in that bandit hideout she had cleared out. The fighting had exhausted her, more adversaries than she had anticipated when she accepted the bounty on their chief. Curling up in one of their bedrolls hadn’t been the smartest idea, she knew, but she had placed her dagger close beside her and kept her back to the wall.

But she should be feeling cold, rough, damp stone beneath her heavy arm. Not - nothing.

Finally her eyelids cooperated and she blinked them open, grateful to see that the lighting was at least dim. It allowed her to get her bearings more quickly, only squinting a little as she stared up above her and slowly looked around, doing her best not to move her head. Alerting those she felt certain were nearby was something she wished to avoid if at all possible.

The ceiling above her was definitely not the stone and hanging moss that had been above her when she went to sleep. That explained why the rain was so much louder than it would have been in the cave, but how she came to be wherever here was she couldn’t remember. Moving her eyes side to side she noticed that the beams of the walls were covered in splatters of blood, which while confusing was strangely comforting because it looked like the walls of the cave had.

Only it wasn't.

Feeling seemed to have returned to her extremities at last, and she took a deep, steadying breath before she pushed herself up to a sitting position.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.”

A velvety voice greeted her, but it took her a moment to locate where it was coming from. As soon as she sat upright her head ached in protest of the sudden movement. Bracing it with a hand she clenched her eyes shut for a moment, waiting for the spinning and stabbing pain to ease.

When she felt able she opened her eyes once more, blinking away the blurriness as she studied her surroundings. She was on a wooden cot, and the blood she had noticed on one wall was not the only glistening crimson decor throughout the wooden shack. Some were old and dried dark reddish brown, but several fresher sticky splatters dripped down the walls as well. Candles flickered off the shades of red, and also cast light on three dark shapes. It took her a moment for her eyes to focus before she realized there were three figures, wearing execution hoods and kneeling on the floor of the shack.

“Easy, now. It will take a few moments for the poisons to wear off,” the velvety voice said. “And apologies for the headache, but I couldn’t take any chances.”

Glancing behind her, Aurelia finally spotted the one who spoke, although she did an excellent job of blending into the shadows. She was wearing red and black leather armor, and wore a cowl with a mask similar to the one Aurelia had in her pack.

_Her pack._

Looking around the floor, she squinted against another wave of dizziness as she sought out her belongings.

“Your things are on the other side of the cot,” the woman told her. “I’m not interested in your belongings.”

“Then what are you interested in?” Aurelia managed to rasp out. Her throat was dry, but she straightened and glared at the woman, who was lazily swinging a leg where it hung over the edge of the wardrobe she perched upon.

“Who are you?” Aurelia added, frowning as she rubbed at a temple. She wondered if she could reach her dagger without being noticed, and kept one hand on the cot beneath her, in case she needed to reach the scabbard at her waist quickly.

"Who I am really isn't as important as what I am. And what I am is an admirer. Of sorts." The woman let out a throaty chuckle after she said it.

Aurelia raised an eyebrow. “Admirer? Should I be flattered?” She paused and brushed loose hairs off her forehead. “If I’d known I had a following, I’d have made certain to carry a quill with me.”

Another soft laugh met her words, the woman still watching her, looking as at ease as a cat watching a trapped mouse. “You have more admirers than you can imagine. Old crone, butchered in her own orphanage, no witnesses or idea at all who did it? Half of Skyrim is talking about it.” The woman paused and seemed to be smiling from the way her eyes crinkled above her mask. “Oh, but don’t get me wrong. I’m not criticizing; it was a good kill. Beautifully executed. Old hag had it coming, _and_ you saved a bunch of urchins to boot? It’s been awhile since I was so impressed. But there is a slight...problem.”

“Of course there is,” Aurelia grumbled. She shifted on the cot, swinging her legs off the edge and resting her elbows on her knees. “Well?”

“Well, you see, that Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For -”

“Fuck.” Aurelia grimaced and hung her head. She heaved a sigh and then let out a hollow laugh before she looked back up. “And you’re Dark Brotherhood, come to collect? I didn’t take his payment. I sold the heirloom he offered me and then gave him the coin, told him to use it to get safely back to the orphanage, to set aside the rest so that he could -”

“How noble,” the woman interrupted. “But that’s not the debt I’m here to collect. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill...that you stole. A kill you must repay.”

Aurelia scoffed lightly and then ran her hand through her hair, mussing the heavy waves and curls as she thought. Finally she pushed herself to her feet and faced the woman. “All right. Who do I kill?”

“Oh, I like you. No protesting, no bargaining. We’ll get along nicely.” The woman held her gaze for a moment before waving a lazy hand. “I’m certain you’ve noticed our guests?”

Aurelia glanced at the three hooded figures behind her and then back to the woman, giving a silent nod.

“You see, there's a contract out on one of them, and that person can't leave this room alive. But...which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out. Make your choice. Make your kill, I just want to observe...and admire."

Aurelia put her hands on her hips and looked at the three captives.

_One of them…_

After a moment spent considering, she pulled her dagger from its sheath and crossed to where the victims knelt. Without removing the first’s hood, she tilted their head back with one hand, exposing their neck.

“Wait - wait I -” a deep Nord accent greeted the harsh grip she had on the man. He cut off in a spluttering gurgle as she quickly slit his throat and released him.

“What’s going on?” a harsh woman’s voice said from beside her, as the next victim tried to turn her head to see despite the hood covering her gaze.

Aurelia stopped behind her and tugged her head back, holding tight as she slashed with her dagger across the woman’s exposed neck. Again a body thumped to the floor, and the next victim began trying to clamber to his feet. But Aurelia put a hand on his shoulder to force him back to his knees, and tilted his head back as she had the others. A khajiit, which meant slightly more resistance because of the fur…

She made certain to press harder and move swiftly, slicing his throat so that he would have a quick death as well. Any one of them could have been the contract, but since she didn’t know she had done her best to make the deaths clean. Efficient.

As she had been taught.

The woman hummed as Aurelia wiped her blade clean. “Weren’t you even a tiny bit curious who they were? Who it might have been? After all, I said there was only a contract on one of them.”

“No one’s innocent, and I’d rather just get out of here,” Aurelia answered as she sheathed her dagger. “Grelod wasn’t my first.”

“And I can tell these won’t be your last,” the woman agreed thoughtfully. “What matters the most is that I told you to kill, and you obeyed.”

“What’s your point?” Aurelia sighed and placed her hands on her hips.

All she wanted was to get out of the shack, to collect the bounty she’d been hunting, to get back to newfound freedom and doing what she wanted because she wanted to do it, not at someone’s orders.

“Well, why stop here? You’ve repaid your debt, and I’ll give you the key to the shack. You’re free to go,” the woman began slowly. She paused, studying Aurelia, and then pushed her hood back to reveal blonde hair before she removed her mask. “Yet I think we could both benefit from taking our relationship to the next level. My name is Astrid, and I would like to extend an invitation to you to join my family. You belong with the Dark Brotherhood, my dear. It’s in your blood, I can tell.”

Aurelia laughed softly and shook her head. “I thought the Dark Brotherhood was extinct. Why should I join a group of ghosts? I’ve been doing fine on my own.”

“Have you? Fulfilling bounties from jarls, killing bandits, sleeping in their caves?” Astrid smirked and looked her over. She swung her other leg off the wardrobe and slid to her feet. Taking a few steps to close the distance between them, she stopped and studied Aurelia closely. “No, you want more out of life. Freedom. Power. You...remind me of me, a bit.”

Aurelia stayed silent, watching the other woman as closely as she watched her.

“In the southwest reaches of Skyrim, in the Pine Forest, you'll find the entrance to our Sanctuary. It's just beneath the road, hidden from view.” Astrid reached into a pouch at her waist and withdrew an iron key. “When questioned by the Black Door, answer with the correct passphrase: ‘Silence, my brother.’”

Aurelia held out a hand and Astrid deposited the key, then reached to pat Aurelia on the cheek.

“I hope to see you there. Sister.”

After gathering her pack, Aurelia used the key to unlock the door, ignoring Astrid as she began looting the corpses so that she could dispose of them. The door swung shut heavily behind her, and Aurelia took a deep breath of what she hoped would be fresh air.

Only it smelled like a bog, and looking around she realized she had no idea where she was. Except that it was a swamp.

In the middle of nowhere.

“Fuck.”

* * *

Fog swirled between the tall trees lining the road, thick billows of grey and white in the pre-dawn light. Her boots were muffled against the moss lining the stones of the road, so that the only sounds were those of the forest. Rabbits and small foxes running nearby through the brush, something larger moving in the distance. Maybe a herd of elk, maybe a bear.

She wouldn’t find out.

The faintest path, only visible because she was searching for signs of activity, was worn into the grass leading away from the main road. Aurelia followed it, progressing slowly as she listened and kept her eyes on the nondescript path. It led beneath the road, beneath an outcrop of rocks, and sure enough at the end of the short path was a door. Black and red, with a skull and skeleton, a familiar black hand on the forehead of the large skull.

She had ignored the message when it was delivered to her, since it really could have meant anything, and in the end it wasn’t from who she had expected. Studying the door for a moment, she considered again if she really wanted to do this.

It was what she was good at, what she knew. And after all, the bounty on the bandit chief had only paid a hundred septims. Steadier work would be welcome, and a Sanctuary - a place to rest her head and return to - was beginning to appeal to her. Despite how much she thought of Cyrodiil, she knew she was further away from a return than she cared to admit to herself more often than not.

While she had thought the Dark Brotherhood extinct, it wasn’t so surprising to find out that she hadn’t heard about its activity. Wasn’t that the point, really?

Faced with the door, she felt an odd sense of home. Of understanding.

_What is the music of life?_

It could have been a whisper on the breeze, a murmur from the shadows, spoken for her and her alone. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and a breeze blew a loose wavy tress across her face.

“Silence, my brother,” she answered.

_Welcome home._

A creak accompanied the door’s mechanisms unlocking so that she could enter. Pushing the heavy door with her shoulder she opened it enough to slip within and then closed it once more behind her. As she walked further into the Sanctuary she took in the slight chill of the air, the way the light of the torches flickered off the stone.

The stairs led her into a room that almost felt like a study, bookshelves lining one wall. Seated behind a desk, her feet crossed and propped on it as she read a piece of parchment, was Astrid.

She looked up as Aurelia entered the room, and a slow, lazy smirk came across her face. “I was hoping you’d come,” she greeted. Setting aside the parchment she stood so that she could circle the desk. “Welcome home, Sister.”

“Cozy,” Aurelia deadpanned.

“I understand,” Astrid murmured. “It’s difficult to trust, but believe me. The Dark Brotherhood is a family. _Our_ family. And I welcome you with open arms. You’ve found somewhere you can belong, as so many others shunned by society have.”

“If there’s coin in it and very little questions, then I’m in,” Aurelia said. She folded her arms and looked around the room, waiting for an answer.

Astrid seemed to consider her for a long moment, and when Aurelia glanced back at her she was smiling and nodding approvingly. “You must be anxious to get to work. I am in the process of setting up a job, but in the meantime - go speak with Nazir. He’ll have a few contracts for you.”

Aurelia nodded and unfolded her arms, taking a few steps toward the hallway that led out of the room.

“Oh, I almost forgot your welcome home present,” Astrid said. Aurelia turned to face her and saw her holding out a bundle of red and black leather. “The armor of the Dark Brotherhood. May it serve you well in all of your...endeavors.”

Raising an eyebrow, Aurelia accepted the bundle and began to look it over. It was in far better shape than the old leather armor she wore, yet was still soft and supple as if it had already been worn for years. A subtle glimmer on it hinted at enchantments, and Aurelia ran a hand over the leather, enjoying the slight hum of magic that greeted her touch.

“You said no questions, but if you would indulge me two,” Astrid requested tentatively.

“Depends on what they are.”

“What shall we call you, Sister?”

Considering for a moment, Aurelia smirked after she decided. “Auri.”

“And tell me, Auri...how was your first?” The gleam in Astrid’s eyes was hungry, an eagerness for the answer showing in how closely she watched Aurelia while waiting for the tale.

“Messy,” she answered honestly.

_The butter knife glinted on the table, just within her grasp. He was too distracted, he’d only managed to twist one of her arms behind her. Overcoming the pain and terror she reached desperately for the knife, and flung her arm back, horrified when a loud squelch met her blind attack._

_The movement and sharp pain stopped abruptly, something hot and wet splattered on her back before the weight pressing her to the table became heavier, dreadfully relaxing on top of her so that she thought she might be suffocated._

“Oh?”

Aurelia pulled herself out of the memory as she absently fingered the sharp dagger at her waist. The whetstone in her pack was well used, she’d likely need a new one soon; especially if she was going to be making use of it more often.

“Yes. A dull blade does that,” Aurelia smirked as she paused her explanation, “but I did learn that an eye is a good place for a butter knife.”

Astrid laughed, full-bodied, head tilted back.

“Oh, I was right, I like you. You’ll fit in wonderfully with the family. Now, you should go meet the rest of them. They’ve been eagerly anticipating your arrival.”

Thus dismissed, Aurelia continued further into the Sanctuary. Voices drifted to her, as well as the trickle of water. And laughter; pure, hearty laughter.

As she entered the main room she took in its walls, its high ceiling, the small reservoir of water with a rushing waterfall pouring into it. Several others wearing Brotherhood armor stood or sat in a circle, relaxed and laughing over a story a young girl was telling. Something about her skin was eerie, far too pale and smooth; and as Aurelia got closer she noticed the gleam of red in her eyes.

A vampire.

The others she observed as well before she strode forward, noticing the diversity of the new family she had accepted. Once she was close enough, they looked up, each one looking her over with a great amount of interest. Only one or two looked doubtful, or perhaps suspicious, while a few others’ faces broke into wide smiles.

“Ah, the new family member, at last,” an Argonian greeted.

“Astrid’s told us all about you. Heard she pulled the old ‘choose your victim’ on you. I love that one,” the child-vampire chimed in. “And I especially love your response. ‘No one’s innocent.’ Perfect. I think we’ll get along beautifully.”

“Hmm.”

“We’ll see.”

“Oh, give her a chance.”

The few murmurs to one another faded after a moment, and Aurelia raised her eyebrows as she looked them over. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your stories, I just - was looking around. And need to speak with - Nazir?”

A Redguard pushed away from the rocky crag he leaned against, giving her a thorough once over. “I suppose Astrid told you to come to me for work.”

Aurelia nodded and followed Nazir when he gestured for her to do so. He led her through the Sanctuary to a room with a long, worn wooden table and an oven. Setting the armor she still carried aside, she took a seat at the table and waited.

Nazir withdrew some parchment from a pouch and shuffled through them. “I have a few.”

He was businesslike, barely glancing her way as he told her the details. When she offered her map and he marked the locations for her, she got the impression that he was impatient, or perhaps just doubtful.

“Cheers. And is there a place for me to store some things, and maybe catch some rest? I was on the road all night.” Aurelia refolded the map and placed it in her pack before she grabbed the armor she’d been given.

Nazir considered her for a long moment, and then gestured up a set of stairs to a loft. “Beds are up there. You can use any free chest.”

“Are you always so cheery and helpful?”

“I find it best not to get attached until I know you’ll be around for longer,” he told her blankly. “Until then, I’m just the man who gives you the names of people to kill. Now, unless you need me to hold your hand through your contracts as well…?”

Aurelia chuckled and shook her head. “No, I don’t.” She headed for the stairs and then glanced back at him, winking lightly. “But be prepared to see a lot of me. Trust me, you’ll get attached. I’m positively _endearing_.”

The scoffed guffaw that followed her ascent made her smile, and as she flung herself on a bed she continued to feel a pleasant warmth in her chest. It may not be home, but it wasn’t a horrible start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving forward over these quest lines, I'm making the assumption that canon is incredibly familiar. There will be some heavy glossing and focusing more on Aurelia in certain moments of the quests, not rehashing a ton of canon except when it's necessary/fitting (like Astrid in this chapter).
> 
> As always thank you for reading, this is a fun project to work on and I hope you're enjoying it! <3


	6. I'm That Bad Type

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from ["Bad Guy" by Billie Eilish](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyDfgMOUjCI), which is a pretty good song for Aurelia, hehe.

_“Ooohhhhh - there once was a hero_ \- ack!”

“Shut up,” Aurelia snapped, flicking another coin at the back of the carriage driver’s head.

“Not a fan of that one?” The driver chuckled even as he pocketed the projectiles she had used to encourage him to stop.

“Not a fan of singing,” she muttered. She glanced back down at the map she held, frowning slightly as she studied the narrow path she would need to follow. “You’re certain Raldthbar is just at the crest of this hill?”

“Aye, been having to hurry past the place. Damn bandits have been robbing the road, when they see the chance.” He tugged the reins so that the cart slowed to a stop. “You goin’ to clear it out? It’d be a right help to us travelers.”

“We’ll see.” Aurelia folded her map once more and stuffed it in her pack. She settled the knapsack and her quiver across her back, slinging her bow over one shoulder. “I’ll be needing a lift to Markarth tonight, if you think you’ll still be around Windhelm.”

“Oh, headed to the city to pick up the bounty on those thugs?” The driver turned to look at her, frowning slightly as he watched her pull her hood up and hook her black mask over the lower half of her face.

“Something like that,” she told him. Withdrawing a few more septims, she held them out to him. “More where that came from if you wait for me outside Windhelm.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” the man said, gratefully accepting the coins.

Aurelia hopped off the back of the cart, checking to make certain she had everything before she waved the driver off. The path led her up the steep hills, through the trees until she could see the hints of ruins looming above her, the glint of metal catching the low sun. She slowed her ascent, pulling her bow from her shoulder so that she would be ready. Lookouts had to be a certainty, if they had been robbing the road as well.

As she got closer to Raldthbar, she considered the way her feet were crunching in the snow beneath her. Remembering what Beatrix had taught her, she drew on the feeling of silence and once she felt her magicka surge into her hand she waved it at her feet. A soft bluish glow remained there, and when she tested a step forward she found her tread light, no longer sinking into the snow at all.

Smirking to herself she continued forward, silently making her way to the stairs that led into the ruins. Pausing at a corner, she glanced around it and saw that there was a lookout, just as she expected. To her surprise, however, he seemed to be dozing against the wall he was leaning on, his head dangling loosely over his chest.

With a sigh she carefully pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it, taking steady aim before she released it - straight into his throat.

A gurgle of a cry accompanied his demise as he slumped to the ground, and she stood quietly listening for any other bandits. When none appeared, she hurried to the large metal doors leading into Raldthbar, and slipped inside.

Another bandit was sleeping just within, sprawled on a bedroll beside a fire. Again an arrow quickly finished the job. She waited to get her bearings, looking for any movement; but after several moments she let out a slow breath, seeing none.

Creeping further into the Dwemer ruins, she came upon a room with several halls splitting off of it, and held to the shadows as she considered her path. Trying the door on the left she found it locked, but after a moment spent working with her lockpick it clicked open. Aurelia followed the path behind the door, bow at the ready, but she found her way clear.

She decided to see where the path led her, despite feeling as though the lack of guards was a sign it was the wrong way. However, as she came upon a ramp that led to ledges above an interior room, she finally heard voices.

“Aye, but the coin ain’t lastin’. We should find another mark or go further into the ruin.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

The second voice was more refined as it snapped at the first, and she remembered how Muiri had described Alain. Melding into the shadows, Aurelia crouched and studied the figures in the room beneath her.

It was a strange thing to be good at, holding still and watching a man the way a predator watched prey, but she had years of practice. She had gotten so good at it that she didn’t hesitate to withdraw a bit of cheese and bread to nibble at while she simply observed her mark. 

He reminded her of so many before: arrogant, insidious, handsome and unfortunately well aware that he was. The tale Muiri had told her hadn’t surprised her, and she considered the simplicity of desiring vengeance as she watched Alain bark orders at the men around him.

If she waited until she had a clear shot of him from here, in the shadows, she could possibly manage to confuse his men and slip away before they realized where the arrow had come from. Taking care of the others would be easy, but she also felt it to be a waste of her time. After all, she didn’t actually have a bounty for them, and didn’t care to seek one out.

Kill Alain, kill Nilsine. Return to Markarth. Collect payment.

Simple. Honest.

A strange irritation seized her as she abruptly recalled the thief’s words, the way he had scoffed at her. Shaking herself, she tried to brush the memory aside as she wiped her hands on her armor so that she could nock an arrow once more.

Her mark was a man who had targeted those grieving, and now he would get his comeuppance - silently, in a Dwemer ruin where his men were almost certain to leave him to rot. Forgotten.

A smirk pulled at her lips as she took aim, a deep steady breath helping the world seem as if it slowed, the way she had taught herself. As she exhaled she released the shot, watching as the arrow sought its place through Alain’s heart.

He crumpled with a cry as his men jumped up from where they had sat around a small fire, looking around wildly.

But Aurelia was already hurrying back along the path she had taken, clinging to the shadows as she kept her ears attuned to the sound of shouts from the main chamber. The chaos she had hoped to create echoed through the ruins, and the sound of footsteps rushing her way didn’t reach her until she was slipping through the cracked metal doors out into the snow.

The path through the trees was an easier way to hide, and once she reached the road she finally glanced behind herself. No one was pursuing her, and she smiled as she returned her bow to her shoulder. His men would fight amongst themselves now, perhaps blame each other, vy for leadership, and possibly erupt in violence before they decided to give up on the ruins, leaving Alain dead and divested of his valuables.

She had seen it all before, and knew that she could continue on to Windhelm with the certainty that she wouldn’t be followed.

As she passed the carriage driver she nodded at him, and he gave a hearty wave before he returned to the tankard of ale he held. Crossing the familiar bridge into the city, she released the mask from her face so that the guards assumed she was just passing through as she had a few times before. No warning to watch herself came this time; they merely opened the doors to let her through.

Muiri had also described Nilsine for her, had told her which of the houses belonged to the Shatter-Shields. It wasn’t a part of her official contract, but the pain in Muiri’s eyes when she had requested it had settled the matter for Aurelia. She also knew Astrid had given her this task as a test, and going above and beyond for the contract was certain to help secure her place in the Brotherhood.

The few marks she had taken care of so far had been easy, but the pay had been good and the ability to return to the Sanctuary after each had made her life in Skyrim far more manageable. The rings and necklaces she had begun to purchase to hold her wealth in place of carrying around hundreds of septims were now stored safely in a locked chest at the foot of the bed she had claimed. And the other members of the Family had been mostly welcoming, swapping stories over meals and offering her advice and chances to hone her skills.

If she was to be stuck in Skyrim, there were worse ways to pass the time.

The sun was just beginning to set as she made her way into the marketplace, pretending to browse the wares as she focused on those around her. A conversation nearby piqued her interest, and she tilted her head as she listened to the merchant addressing a young woman by name.

As Nilsine turned away from the market, Aurelia followed her with her eyes, watching as she shifted the basket of tomatoes slung over her forearm. Aurelia tossed a septim to a merchant and picked up a green apple from their display, casually making her way past the other stalls as if she had found what she sought.

Which she had, idly munching the apple as she followed her prey away from the crowd.

She kept her head down when she passed a guard patrolling the graveyard, but they paid her no attention. Tossing the apple aside once the coast was clear, Aurelia settled her mask over her face once more as she crept quietly up the stairs after Nilsine.

A crunch of snow beneath her foot made Nilsine glance back, but Aurelia slipped into the shadows, and after a moment Nilsine continued on her way. One last check of her surroundings showed that now was her opportunity. No one else was in sight along the snowy row of residences.

Quick as she could Aurelia snuck forward, drawing her dagger with one hand as she poised the other to grab her mark. The scream Nilsine tried to let out was stifled by Aurelia’s gloved hand as she clamped it over her mouth. Tomatoes splattered on the rock and rolled away as the basket dropped, and Nilsine fought to pull Aurelia’s hand from her mouth.

“Muiri sent me,” Aurelia whispered into her ear. “I know you grieve for your sister, but don’t worry. You’ll see her soon enough, dear Nilsine.”

Another muffled scream died against black leather, and Aurelia kicked at the back of Nilsine’s knee so that it gave way, forcing her to kneel.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it came to this,” Aurelia breathed, taking a moment to look into terrified eyes. And then she cut deep, dragging her dagger as quickly as she could across the girl’s throat, avoiding the blood that seeped from the wound.

She released her hold and let Nilsine’s body fall onto the steps before her, blood shining in the flickering of the torches on either side of her home’s doors. After wiping her dagger on the girl’s dress, she sheathed it and then gently rolled Nilsine onto her back. Folding limp hands peacefully over her stomach, she tenderly closed her victim’s eyes, still wide with fear and pain.

A brief glance around showed the area still deserted, and she hurried away, continuing on the path instead of returning toward the market. She removed her hood and mask, shaking out her crumpled braid and making certain she had avoided the girl’s blood. There was a glistening spot on her shoe, and she wiped it off in a small pile of dirty snow as she passed, kicking it around so that no evidence remained.

She breathed deeply, steadily as she passed guards, not avoiding eye contact but not seeking it either. Merely passing through, her business done, that was all. As she passed a beggar warming herself beside a brazier, Aurelia handed her a few septims from her coin purse with a brief smile.

The carriage driver was leaning against his carriage, and at her approach he chuckled and drained the rest of his ale.

“So, back to Markarth?” he asked, laughing a bit as he swung himself up into his seat.

“And here’s the coin I promised you,” Aurelia agreed, handing over more than the usual cost to take her to the Reach. She pulled herself into the back of the carriage, setting her knapsack down and stretching her legs out to cross her feet on the seat across from her. “I have a Black-Briar mead in my pack if you don’t sing, this time.”

Another hearty laugh greeted her offer, and wordlessly the driver reached behind him with an outstretched hand.

* * *

Markarth was just as dreary as it had been before, and Aurelia slipped into the city and the inn, requesting a room so that she could sleep away the exhaustion before she proceeded. Muiri had her work at the apothecary, and so she had time to recover herself. Sleeping on the road had never been her forte, even if the carriage seemed safer than other options.

At least the driver had refrained from singing.

When she finally dragged herself from her bed she found that it was almost night once more. She pulled her leather breeches on, as well as the loose white linen blouse she wore when she wasn’t in her armor. After tucking it in her waistband she wandered out of her room into the common area of the inn, looking around as she mussed her dark curls.

To her surprise Muiri was sitting at the counter, nursing an ale and some stew. Aurelia stifled a yawn and crossed the room to take the stool beside her, smirking when Muiri startled at her sudden presence.

“You’re - oh, you’re - you’re back,” Muiri greeted her. “So, is it...um…”

“Let me get some food and then we’ll chat,” Aurelia told her, offering a smile as she flagged down the innkeeper. Once she had a bottle of wine and tankard before her and a promise of hot stew on the way, she turned to Muiri. “It’s done. Both of them, quick and clean. Just as promised.”

Muiri’s eyes went wide and her lips parted, though it seemed to take several moments for her to gather her thoughts. “I - oh. You really did it. I feel...it’s strange, I feel…”

“Relief will come later,” Aurelia offered. She poured herself some wine before she tipped the bottle at her companion in silent question. At Muiri’s nod she poured some into her empty tankard, and then raised hers to drink from. “For now there’s my payment to discuss.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Muiri reached to her belt for a coin purse, and set it before Aurelia. She hesitated a moment and then slipped a ring from her finger and set it on the counter as well. “I - well, at the time this seemed enough. You did more than I originally asked of the Brotherhood. Nilsine as well, I - wanted to offer you this ring. As thanks.”

Aurelia picked it up, twirling it in her fingers as she studied the way the light of the room caught and reflected on it, indicating an enchantment.

“I just did what you asked,” Aurelia told her, absently gesturing the ring. “It was your contract with Sithis, after all.”

“Yes, but you’ve helped me so much. It just...doesn’t seem enough to let you know how I’m feeling,” Muiri murmured. It wasn’t a surprise when she placed her hand on Aurelia’s thigh, and leaned closer. “I could never fully show you how grateful I am. Truly.”

With a smirk Aurelia took another long gulp of wine, considering. She glanced aside at Muiri, taking in the fluttering eyelashes, the awestruck look on her face. It wasn’t the first time she’d been propositioned after a job, the rush of gratitude inspiring feelings in a contract akin to worship and devotion.

“I have a room, if you’d care to join me for dinner and drink there,” Aurelia suggested.

Muiri flushed but her hand remained on Aurelia’s thigh. “Yes, if you - if you’d like the company.”

Aurelia informed the innkeeper she’d take dinner in her room, and took his sneer to mean he had understood. She picked the wine and her tankard off the counter after tying the coin purse to her belt, and led Muiri in the direction of her room. Once inside she sat at the table, propping one foot on her seat so that she could rest her elbow on her knee. Muiri hesitated a moment and then pulled the other chair closer to hers, sitting before her and leaning an elbow on the table to hold her head up as she smiled shyly at Aurelia.

“I take it you’re not originally from here, if you know the Shatter-Shields?”

“No, I grew up in Windhelm,” Muiri answered. She frowned and drained some of her wine. “Are you - where are you from?”

“Cyrodiil,” Aurelia answered simply. Vaguely.

Where, exactly, didn’t matter. Not really, no matter how much she still thought about it.

She cleared her throat and reached for the wine to top them both off. Before she could say anything further, there was a knock on the door, and she called for entry. The innkeeper’s wife pushed into the room bearing a tray with her stew, as well as another bottle of wine. After handing over a few septims, Aurelia waved the woman off and she bowed her way from the room.

“Did you get enough to eat?” she asked Muiri, glancing up as she picked up a spoon.

“You’re such a good person,” Muiri murmured, staring at Aurelia as if awestruck once more.

Scoffing lightly Aurelia shook her head and took a bite of warm beef and vegetables. Once she had swallowed she sat back in her chair and considered Muiri. “I’m not, I promise.”

“How can you say that? You helped me, you set things right -”

“I also murdered someone’s only remaining child on their doorstep,” she interrupted firmly. “It’s easy to think I did right, Muiri. And I did, for you. But that doesn’t make me a good person.”

“Well, I think you are,” Muiri asserted before taking a drink of wine.

Aurelia chuckled and took another bite of stew, thinking. “I’ve done everything a person can do for money, darling. Not just in this instance. I promise you, again: I’m not a good person.”

Muiri studied her, chewing her lip as she ran a finger along the rim of her tankard. “You’ve killed, yes. Robbed?”

Aurelia nodded, blowing on another mouthful of stew.

“Um...lied?”

“Of course.”

“Bartered stolen goods?”

“I robbed, so of course I did.”

“Kidnapped?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Sold your body?”

Here Aurelia set down the spoon she held and reached instead for the tankard of wine before her. She took a long gulp and then cleared her throat. “The point is, Muiri,” she said, “I don’t discriminate when it comes to paying my way through the world.”

“I wish I could be more like you,” Muiri muttered. She stared into her tankard, still running her finger along the rim. “Instead I got used and I...sought help from someone else. I’m weak.”

Aurelia sighed and set her bowl aside. “I was used too.”

“You? But you’re so _strong_.”

“I am now. And you can be too. It just takes looking those who would use you in the eye and telling them you’re in charge now.” Aurelia smirked and took a sip of her wine. “When that doesn’t work, I’ve found slitting their throat should do the trick.”

Muiri giggled, shaking her head as she did. “I wish I could do that.”

“Poison works just as well.”

Muiri seemed to swallow hard before she glanced up. “In the meantime I’m just,” she took a deep breath as if searching for the word, “indebted to you. I can’t express my gratitude.”

“You paid me, that was enough,” Aurelia assured her.

Idly Muiri reached for Aurelia's knee, running her finger along the leather covering her thigh as she thought. “What if I...wanted to do more to show you?”

“Only if you really wanted to.”

It seemed to be all Muiri needed to hear before she set her tankard aside and scooted forward on her chair. “It’s hard not to want to offer you more,” she murmured. Reaching a hand to Aurelia’s face, she brushed loose tresses off her cheek and let her eyes wander over. “You’re so beautiful. I haven’t seen anyone so pale, and your eyes...they’re like - like sapphires. Or the sea, I -”

Aurelia laughed, shaking her head as she set her tankard aside as well. “Sounds like it’s more than gratitude,” she teased.

“It is,” Muiri breathed. “The men in this town, they - they won’t leave me alone. But you, I - Divines, I just…”

Instead of finishing the sentence she slid off her chair, sliding easily into Aurelia’s lap. She ran her hands through her dark waves, and Aurelia moved her hands along her thighs, pushing her skirt up as she did.

Muiri’s kiss was sweet, delicate and tenderly hesitant, but as soon as she felt Aurelia’s gentle and reassuring response she seemed to take heart. Her tongue flicked at Aurelia’s lips, and she parted them to allow her access. Small, work-roughened hands clasped the sides of her face, and she languidly responded and savored the Breton’s eagerness.

“You never told me your name,” Muiri whispered against her lips.

“Just call me Auri,” she responded, pushing the skirt in her hands further up her thighs as she leaned forward to resume their kiss.

She let the kiss continue until Muiri was pulling desperately at her clothes, wordlessly trying to encourage her back to the small bed behind them. Aurelia tightened her hold and lifted her, carrying her to the bed before she fell back upon it. Muiri propped herself above her and began to pull at her shirt, loosening it from her breeches as she trailed kisses down her throat.

They worked to bare one another, though Muiri stopped her once she was bared to her smallclothes. Aurelia raised an eyebrow, curious at the imbalance, but Muiri merely continued to place kisses to Aurelia’s bare flesh. As she progressed lower Aurelia closed her eyes, relaxing as she savored the soft feeling of lips on her stomach and inner thighs.

The first flick of Muiri’s tongue against her was pure bliss, and she let out a deep moan as she let her legs fall to her sides, spread and waiting. Muiri was far more eager than she had expected, lapping at her pearl and moaning each time Aurelia shuddered beneath the attention. She slid a finger within her, curling it and pumping it as she swirled her tongue around her sensitive nub. When she sucked gently at her Aurelia let out a cry and arched her back, hurtling closer to the edge with a glance down to take in the sight of Muiri working between her legs.

She didn’t stop until Aurelia was gasping, rolling her hips with a hand twisted in her hair, holding Muiri to her as she lost herself to the steady, persistent licking of her warm tongue against her. As soon as she had regained her senses she sat up, pulling Muiri with her and flipping them so that she was on top.

“You’re right, that was more than gratitude,” Aurelia murmured against her lips. She caught Muiri's bottom lip between her teeth as she used her hands to slide her smallclothes down her thighs. The taste of her wetness on Muiri’s tongue drove her wild, and she slid her fingers along her slit, groaning when she felt how wet Muiri was already.

“Au-Auri,” Muiri gasped, her head snapping against her collarbone as Aurelia pushed two fingers into her. “Oh, I -”

“You like it,” Aurelia finished for her. She slowly moved her fingers in a come hither motion until Muiri was moaning, and then began to slide them within her, quickening her pace when Muiri sobbed.

“I - I - please. Don’t stop,” Muiri begged. Digging her fingers into Aurelia’s arms, she kept her forehead pressed to her collarbone, panting desperately.

Aurelia smirked and increased her attention, rubbing her thumb over Muiri’s pearl as she continued moving her fingers within her, focusing on the spot she knew would help send her over the edge. The way that she continued to whimper and beg Aurelia with increasing shamelessness only made her throb again, loving the sound of high-pitched whines calling out to her.

When Muiri lost herself she cried as if her life depended on it, begging Aurelia in half-finished sentences that made it unclear if she wanted her to stop or keep going. Deciding she loved the desperation she was causing the other woman, she continued her pressure and movements until Muiri was shaking and half-screaming beneath her.

“Auri - Auri - I - please, I can’t, I can’t again - oh Mara, maybe I still am, I - please,” Muiri begged, gasping for air and clutching at the sheets beneath her.

Finally relenting, Aurelia removed her fingers and instead raised them to her lips. Muiri watched breathlessly as Aurelia slid her fingers into her mouth, making a show of sucking the juices from them as she held her gaze.

“You’re not in a hurry to leave, are you?” Muiri rushed to ask, still trying to catch her breath.

“No, I’m not. Especially not if you have plans,” Aurelia told her slowly, and to emphasize her point she slid her hand along Muiri’s thigh.

“I’m glad,” Muiri purred, reaching up to lace a hand in her dark waves. “I have more ways to show you I’m grateful, now that I think about it.”

Aurelia chuckled and settled over her, enjoying the heat of her skin against hers. “I have the room until the morning,” she murmured, smirking.


	7. Another Bard for the Books

"Get your feet off the table. Were you raised in the stables?"

Aurelia chuckled even as she slowly slid first one and then the other boot off the corner of the scrubbed wooden table. "The stables would have at least been a roof over my head," she mused sardonically.

Festus grunted and shook his head as he took a seat one over from her, across from Gabriella. "Yeah yeah yeah...another orphan, another sob story. Save it."

Aurelia continued chuckling as she sipped from her tankard of ale. “Sure thing, old man.”

Before Festus could retort, Gabriella cleared her throat and glanced around surreptitiously. “We _were_ talking about Cicero,” she began, looking to the wizard. “What do you think about our new arrival?”

“I think the Night Mother being here is the best thing to have happened to our little family,” Festus declared. “Astrid is a good leader, but the Old Ways guided the Brotherhood for longer than…”

Aurelia tuned out the man’s ramblings, locking eyes instead with Babette and giving a small shrug. The vampire smirked and went back to the book she was studying.

These quiet moments with the other Brotherhood members weren’t peaceful, but they weren’t uncomfortable. In many ways, they merely were. That they only asked her about their shared trade, or offered tales of their own, she appreciated more than she could say.

The arrival of a jester and coffin supposedly containing the body of the Night Mother was only a passing curiosity to her, one she hoped would do little to interrupt the Sanctuary. She enjoyed its security, the steady work and place to lay her head between jobs. Traveling around Skyrim was easier now, and she was acquiring more jewels for herself which she kept locked away, for whatever she might need to barter.

More than she had hoped, life was becoming comfortable. It was strange, and something she had never thought to expect.

A rolled up piece of parchment tapped her shoulder, and she glanced up to find Nazir standing next to her. “Got some jobs if you want one.”

“Oooh, do tell,” she murmured, raising an eyebrow as she watched him begin to unfurl the piece of paper.

“Nazir,” Festus interrupted. “What do you think of our newest addition to the family?”

Nazir’s lip pulled up in a sneer, and he glanced up from the parchment he held. "I don't like mimes, minstrels, thespians, acrobats, jugglers, troubadours, or tumblers. Flutists give me a headache. I _particularly_ hate jesters."

Aurelia snorted, drawing his attention. “Add bards to that list for me,” she muttered into her tankard of ale.

“Oh?” Nazir considered her, expression inscrutable before he chuckled and withdrew a different roll of parchment. “Here, then. A present, for surviving as long as you have.”

Granting him a bright smile and a wink, Aurelia accepted the parchment and began to look it over once it was unfurled. “Awww, for me, Nazir? You shouldn’t have.”

He let out a short chuckle and walked along the table, searching for a free chair and tankard. “I think you’ll appreciate it, and after all you’ve proven yourself to be more impressive than I first thought you would be.”

“You say the nicest things,” she purred, and winked at him again when he rolled his eyes. “So tell me about this bard.”

“Aw, you’re giving her the bard?” Babette lamented with a sigh. “I was hoping for that one.”

“Don’t worry, I have plenty to go around,” Nazir assured her.

“That popular?” Aurelia mused, looking up from the parchment she held.

“Ha! No, no, my sister.” Nazir let out a few chuckles as he poured himself some ale. "He is, by all accounts, the worst bard in all of Skyrim. Apparently so many people sought his death, Astrid had to hold a lottery to determine the client."

“Oooh, thank you for the present, then, Nazir,” Aurelia told him. “The only thing worse than a bard is a terrible one, and I’d love to add another to my list.”

She ignored the eager gleams in their eyes, as if longing for the story. It had been enough that she had even told Astrid as much about her first as she had, though, and so she drained her tankard. Pushing herself to her feet she rolled the parchment once more.

“Well. Duty calls,” she announced with a shrug, and without further ado crossed to the stairs.

She packed light, knowing she could make it easily to Morthal and stay at the inn where her target would be. Her time in Skyrim and working with the Brotherhood had given her a better sense of distance across the land she currently called home. 

After slinging her pack and bow over her armored back, she made her way through the Sanctuary. There wasn’t any reason to delay, and working was better than not. Staying would maybe just lead down the path of thinking about it, or remembering, or worse — talking about it, and she always chose not to do any of those things.

”Sister!”

She resisted the groan she wanted to let out at the cheery voice full of laughter, but took a moment to mask her irritation before she turned to face him.

“We did not have a chance to talk, oh no! Cicero does not know your name! Please, Sister, take pity on a fool and have a chat, would you? Pretty please?”

The jester trailed off into a slew of chortles, and Aurelia grimaced.

“Auri,” she told him bluntly. “Welcome, I guess.”

He took a moment, his eyes making a rapid assessment of her face before a puzzled frown flitted across his brows, only to be replaced by a wide smile a moment later. “Why, Sister! You’re an Imperial! Like poor Cicero! Oh, Cicero misses his home, yes he does.”

Aurelia said nothing.

“Where in Cyrodiil, dear Auri? Have you been away long? Cicero is so happy to meet someone else who might miss it just as he does.”

She chewed her tongue for a moment, watching as he almost pranced before her in his eagerness. This was more questions that she wanted to handle, and she flicked her eyes behind him at where the coffin rested, hoping to find a way to distract him.

“Er — things settling with the Night Mother, Keeper?” she asked, gesturing to indicate behind Cicero.

“Oh, yes. Astrid is a — most gracious hostess.” There was the slightest hesitation in the way he said it, but he covered it with more of his crazed laughter. “Cicero is so happy to have a _family_ again.”

“Good,” Aurelia said, and she gave a curt nod. “Well, I’m — on my way out. I suppose I’ll see you around.”

With that she pushed past him, hoping that he merely let her carry on. She didn’t want his questions, didn’t want his insistence.

She didn’t want to think about Cyrodiil, not right now as she continued on her way to add another bard to her tally.

* * *

Her plan had somehow managed to involve hearing proof that Lurbuk was, in fact, the worst bard in all of Skyrim. Although possibly anywhere in Tamriel, from what she could tell.

Yet asking him to sing her a ditty had given her a perfect chance to pour the contents of a vial into his ale, as he had a habit of closing his eyes as he warbled her requested song about death at a terrible tempo.

It had to be one of his own compositions, possibly made up on the spot, and Aurelia had grimaced her way through it and nodded blandly when he asked if she had enjoyed herself. He didn’t seem to notice her reluctance or the way she rubbed at an ear as if it pained her, instead declaring himself a gift.

Now all she had to do was wait, feet propped near the fire as she sipped eagerly at the ale she held. Her belly was full, she had a room for the night, and the bard would soon be on his way to Sithis.

“Vesta!”

The cry took a moment for her to register, and she glanced over her shoulder at the door.

Beatrix was standing just inside the inn, a wide smile on her face as she held her arms out before her, bouncing slightly on her toes. When all Aurelia did was stare at her, she cleared her throat and crossed to take the chair beside her.

“I was hoping you were really here. I hadn’t used that spell before and I kept getting distracted thinking about how hungry I was.” The Breton took her seat, but sat only on the edge, her eyes eagerly roaming over Aurelia beside her.

“Spell?” Aurelia finally asked, still not quite certain what the other woman wanted.

“Yes, one of many I’ve learned at the College. So much has already changed since we parted ways in Whiterun,” Beatrix rambled. “Anyway, I used this new Illusion spell I learned. Maybe I’ll teach it to you, it shows you the path to whatever goal you’re focused on. So I used it to find you!”

Aurelia frowned sharply. “Why?”

“I need your help! I have some College business to attend to, and I thought, hey! Vesta was a fearsome —”

“No.”

Beatrix blinked for a moment, and then broke into a bright smile. “Come on, Vesta —”

“I don’t do _help_ ,” Aurelia reaffirmed, waving a hand dismissively. “Sorry you wasted your time, but I’m not going to help with ‘College business.’”

“Oh! Oh, you misunderstood me,” Beatrix told her. “I want to hire you! Just for this one little thing. See I have to go into a Keep and I’d rather have someone to watch my back.”

Aurelia frowned, considering. In the time she was silent, staring unflinchingly at Beatrix, the Breton tittered and then pulled a large coin purse out of her knapsack. She dropped it in Aurelia’s lap, smiling as she noticed the huff Aurelia let out in response to its weight.

“What do you say?” Beatrix tilted her head slightly as she watched her, a calculating look in her eyes that had been absent when first they met.

Perhaps she had learned a bit more about the world since they’d parted.

“Where is it?” Aurelia finally asked, heaving a sigh. “And what exactly would we be up against?”

“Not far from Whiterun,” Beatrix answered, looking entirely too pleased with herself now that Aurelia had agreed. “And mages, most likely.”

Aurelia groaned, draining the rest of her ale as she tentatively weighed the coin purse in her hand. It was quite a lot, she could tell, and she wondered for a moment just what Beatrix had been up to.

Before she could even decide whether or not to ask, there was a commotion as Lurbuk the bard croaked and slid off his chair, the tankard he held rolling out of his hand. Beatrix gasped, staring wide-eyed at the Orsimer, and Aurelia merely smirked. The innkeeper was swearing, complaining about having to summon the guards to clean up the body — but not lamenting the man’s death.

Aurelia turned her smirk to Beatrix and casually gestured the empty tankard she held at where the bard lay. “Looks like a room just opened up for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried not to have an author moment over the length of this chapter - it served its purpose *shrugs.* Thank you for reading as always, especially after my ~~sort of~~ short "RL has been crazy" hiatus.
> 
> Also my lovely fren [Ladymdc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymdc/pseuds/ladymdc) commissioned the equally lovely [Memaidraws](https://memaidraws.tumblr.com/) to do an Aurelia portrait and so I just have to share, because she turned out so lovely ~~thank you so much fren I don't deserve you~~ :
> 
> xx,  
> Lara


	8. An Easy Mark

Luckily, she seemed to have survived without any major injury.

There was a burn that had singed through her armor at her shoulder, from a barely missed fire bolt, and the skin felt raw. But she was otherwise intact.

After looking herself over, she slung her bow over her shoulder and glanced at where Beatrix was cradling three books as if they were the most precious things she had ever seen. Deciding to give the mage a moment, she wandered the room, checking the fire atronachs and the body of the so-called ‘Caller’ for any decent arrows to reclaim.

Beatrix finally stood, turning wide, unblinking eyes to Aurelia. She had taken two potions before the battle to enhance her magic, almost vibrating with energy as the magicka had raced through her.

Things had definitely changed since they had parted ways, a strange ruthlessness replacing the naiveté that had brought her to Skyrim.

Aurelia waited patiently by the door, seeing nothing of further interest for herself and just wanting to get out of the dank keep. It smelt of rotten flesh and putrid dampness, and the dead vampires on the floors below had made her wary of what else they might find in these walls.

All she wanted was some ale and a warm bed. And perhaps someone to share it with.

She hadn’t expected to find anyone in Morthal, and yet a local mage had caught her eye when he came into the tavern after running into Beatrix. Falion had been a tempting conquest, especially for having seemed uninterested at first. But once he had her beneath him in bed he proved he had far more to him than dreary talk of magic, no matter what Beatrix had tried to say to the opposite.

“Sorry — sorry, was making certain these were all I needed,” Beatrix panted, rushing to stop before Aurelia. She shoved the books in her knapsack and then fastened it. “Ready when you are to head out, figured we could head to Whiterun? I can catch the carriage from there.”

Aurelia gave a curt nod of her head and turned on her heel to the door. She actually hadn’t been back to Whiterun since their arrival, but she remembered the food had been hot and the bed decent.

At least, for the short time she had been in it.

There was a strange restlessness in her, and she wondered if it was simply that she had taken longer than she intended. She’d meant to merely travel to Morthal and assassinate the bard, not dally and fight a cult of mages on her way back to the Sanctuary.

It didn’t help that beside her Beatrix was still almost buzzing with energetic excitement, rambling about the books and dropping hints about some discovery they were going to help her shine a light on.

Aurelia didn’t care.

She resumed the stoicism of their journey to Skyrim, keeping an eye out for any danger on the road but otherwise uninterested. Beatrix eventually calmed and seemed to realize Aurelia wasn’t up for conversation, and instead pulled one of the books from her pack. Her nose buried in the tome, she let Aurelia lead them down the path, walking until the sun was beginning to set as they reached the stables outside Whiterun.

“Well, I guess you’re grabbing the carriage?”

Beatrix looked up and glanced around, as if taking in her surroundings for the first time. “Oh. Um...maybe I’ll...have some supper first.”

Aurelia just stared at her for a moment, noticing the way she was opening the book again, and shrugged. “Fine. See you around.”

The mage hummed noncommittally and fell into step with her once more, following her instinctively as she took up her reading. Aurelia bit back the irritated sigh she longed to give, but simply continued into Whiterun. The guards at the gate greeted Beatrix with deference, giving curt bows of their head.

When their eyes found Aurelia’s, though, she was met by bemused frowns. If she wasn’t mistaken, she could hear their whispers behind her after she had passed. She decided to ignore them and continued along to the tavern, Beatrix still slowly meandering beside her, nose still buried in the tome.

“Come on, Carlotta. You know you want to say yes.”

The phrase made Aurelia glance to the side, and she halted in her tracks when she saw who had spoken. A man had the fruit vendor up against the stacked barrels beside her stand, one arm resting on the wood above her to keep her trapped before him.

It took her a moment to recognize him, but the memory of him trying to catch her eye in the inn before the Jarl had joined her came back quickly.

_The bard._

Something snapped within her, a tenuous thing she normally ignored and managed to keep under control. Before she fully realized, her feet had carried her forward as she unsheathed her sharp Elven dagger. With her left hand she laced her fingers into his blond locks, and with her right she pressed the edge of her dagger to the exposed skin on his throat.

“Bothering this woman, _bard?_ ” The word she spat at him, hissing in his ear as he took a moment to realize what had happened.

“I — I saw her first! Let go of me — this doesn’t concern you —”

“Looks to me like you were trying to coerce her,” she growled in his ear. “Maybe someone needs to put you in your place.”

The woman he had been bothering managed to slip away from the barrels, raising an eyebrow as she took in the way the bard was spluttering with something akin to satisfaction. Aurelia lowered her dagger from his throat, thinking for a moment, and then quickly positioned it lower, slipping it beneath his tunic.

“You’re not making good use of this, perhaps I should relieve you of it —”

A startled yelp left the bard when he felt her dagger against him once more, and he shook his head against how she held his hair. “Wait — now wait a moment — I’ll — I’ll leave her alone, all right? I’m sorry, I’m —”

“Apologize to her!”

He tried to twist his head to search out his intended victim, and gulped. “I’m sorry, Carlotta. Now please — call her off —”

“Halt!”

The deep bark came from behind her, and Aurelia glanced over her shoulder with a sharp frown. Two guards were hurrying toward the scene, one of them holding a crumpled piece of parchment.

“You! Release him!” 

The guard holding the parchment pointed at Aurelia, who considered for a moment before she pushed the bard away from her. He stumbled and nearly fell, rubbing at his neck and instinctively checking between his legs. He gulped and looked at the scene for a moment, and then fled to the inn, looking like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“All a little misunderstanding,” Aurelia purred as she sheathed her dagger.

The guard stopped before her and brandished the parchment. “Look familiar?”

A sketch of her, rather prettier than she really thought she was, was on the parchment, with a reward listed below — for thievery.

“Vesta, what did you do?”

“A mistake, I’m certain,” Aurelia interrupted Beatrix, amazed she was still standing nearby. She hadn’t interrupted her assault of the bard at all, and stood taking everything in with wide eyes.

“Please, as Thane of Whiterun,” Beatrix began, but Aurelia shook her head.

“No, no, it’s fine.” She held her wrists out to the guards and smiled. “Take me in.”

She hadn’t made it up to the keep on her last trip to Whiterun, though Dragonsreach loomed above the districts so that it couldn’t be missed. Studying its ominous facade, she let the two guards march her up the many steps, her hands tied loosely with rope behind her.

When they entered the keep, she found herself vaguely surprised when they didn’t lead her downwards, in the direction she assumed dungeons would be. Instead they continued to lead her up, until they passed rooms that almost looked like the quarters for the Jarl and his family.

The guards led her to what appeared to be a study, walls lined with shelves, a large desk in the center of the room, and seated behind it —

“Jarl Balgruuf,” one of the guards greeted, and he gave a curt bow when the Jarl looked up from what he had been studying. “Sorry to interrupt, but you gave instructions if we saw this thief...”

Balgruuf’s eyes slowly trailed over Aurelia, beginning with her feet and dragging up until they were holding each other's blue gazes. He pushed himself to his feet, and she quirked an eyebrow as she took in his apparel. Instead of the simple linen clothes he had been wearing the night they met, he was garbed as befit his station, with furs and gold inlaid with jewels.

Clear evidence that what she had stolen off of him was likely a small dent in what he possessed.

It made her wonder why she was here.

“Hello again,” she purred, winking when he merely stood staring at her.

He cleared his throat and waved a hand dismissively at the guards. “Thank you, that will be all.”

“What about the —” one of them began to protest, but the other elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Speak with Proventus. Now leave us, and close the door behind you.”

The guards bowed again and scurried from the room, talking excitedly about the reward. After the door closed behind them, a heavy silence fell as Balgruuf merely glared at Aurelia.

“Do you always see to punishing thieves yourself? Such a hands on approach for a Jarl,” she mused. Turning her back on him she slowly began to pace around the room, studying the books piled on the shelves.

“I do when they steal from me, _Vesta._ ” His tone was low, barely above a growl and holding some lingering emotion that made her turn to meet his gaze.

Raising her eyebrows she pursed her lips and looked him over before she meandered to stand until the desk was between them once more. “I’m certain you could part with a few of your trinkets. I doubt you’ve missed them.”

“You dare assume — some of them were heirlooms,” he barked, leaning his hands on the desk so that he could glower more easily at her.

Aurelia shrugged. “I’m not to blame for your indiscretion. Wearing heirlooms to get drunk at the tavern, taking a stranger to bed...You should be more careful.”

Balgruuf slammed a hand on the desk, hanging his head for a moment before he tapped the rings on his fist against the wood a few times. He seemed to be struggling against something, and then raised his gaze. “If you return them —”

“Return them?” Aurelia let out a short laugh and shrugged. “They’re long gone. I’m not in the habit of hanging onto things I steal as if they’re mementos.”

“You — you didn’t…” He trailed off and sighed, dragging a hand over his face as if frustrated. “I thought perhaps you wanted the jewels, or something to…”

He cleared his throat again and glared away from her, and she frowned as she considered him.

After a moment she began to laugh. “Oh that’s rich. You thought I — what, wanted something to remember you by?” She chuckled and stepped closer to the desk. “I needed to pay my way. It wasn’t anything personal. You were just an easy mark.”

The scowl that met her words looked defensive, and she held his gaze with an eyebrow raised. When he said nothing, she leaned closer across the desk, balancing herself awkwardly from the way her hands were still tied by rope behind her back.

“Is that why you asked them to bring me straight to you? You thought it was about your heirlooms, but clearly you’re not lacking for jewels and wealth,” she murmured. She let her eyes flick down to his lips, taking in the way he was watching her as if riveted despite how he still glowered. “I think we both know you just wanted to get your cock wet again though, didn’t you?”

Hardly a breath passed before his hand was behind her neck, pulling her roughly so that he could close the distance between their lips. There was a fierce, angry passion he had lacked the night in the inn, and Aurelia opened her mouth to him as she savored the way he caught her bottom lip and bit. Hard.

His fingers twisted in her waves and he tilted her head back so that she had to look up at him when he raised his mouth from hers. “What if it was, Vesta? If that even is your real name, _thief._ ”

“It isn’t,” she breathed, then smirked against his lips. “But it’s the only one you’ll get from me, even if you do want to fuck.”

The parchments that had been piled on his desk were hurriedly brushed aside, and he easily lifted her over the desk until she was seated before him. He grabbed the dagger nearby, the one he likely used to open seals on official documents, and reached behind her to cut the ropes that bound her.

The moment she was free she worked at the laces of his tunic, and he did the same after setting the dagger aside. Balgruuf pulled her off the desk as he worked to slide her leather breeches beneath her rear. When he had exposed her he turned her, bending her over the desk and parting her legs with his feet.

Aurelia clutched at the desk, offering herself up to him as she braced against the wood beneath her. The first time he had almost seemed hesitant, or as if he held himself back, but now he didn’t wait before he slammed his way into her with a deep moan. His grip on her hips was tight, not allowing her movement as he began to thrust at a desperate pace.

It was rough, in a way she realized she had missed, her recent trysts too brief and lacking any sort of passion, whether born of true desire or anger. Now she was digging her nails into the wooden edge of his desk, gasping for breath and begging him for something she hadn’t thought he could give her so easily. This was what she had needed, the short, hard thrusts that had her biting her lip painfully to keep from making the entire keep wonder what the Jarl was getting up to in his study.

He held her down on the wood with one powerful hand as he snaked his other to the front of her, touching her in rhythm with his rapid movement within her. It caught her by surprise and his hold only tightened on her as she tried to writhe on the desk, his name slipping past her lips without her meaning for it to as he drove her to fall apart. There was something triumphant in the way he continued to hold her down, breathing heavily as he pulled himself from her and released his spend on her naked rear.

With a deep chuckle he squeezed one bare cheek, and then gave it a sharp slap before he repeated the motion on the other side. He leaned over her, pushing her hair off of her neck as he studied the way she was still gasping for breath. His teeth grazing sharply against her neck made her moan, and she tried to offer more of her skin up to him.

“I suppose I can take the reward posters down now,” he muttered in her ear.

“And I guess I’m free to go seek my room at the tavern, finally?” she asked, blinking her eyes as she continued to try to regain her senses.

“You don’t have to,” he mused slowly. Pushing himself away from her, she heard the sound of him refastening his clothes behind her. He threw a rag on the desk beside her, and she glanced over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow in question. 

“You could stay with me,” he clarified.

Aurelia cleaned herself and pulled her breeches up, considering as she laced them once more. A free room and board wouldn’t be terrible, although taking in the way his eyes gleamed she realized it wouldn’t exactly be _free_.

That was certainly a trade off she was willing to make, and she stepped closer to him once more as she slid her hand into the opening of his tunic.

“I could do that, you’re right,” she agreed in a low purr.

His frustration with her felt pent up, so that by the time she was finally collapsing on the bed hours later to seek her rest she was exhausted. She was barely able to make certain she sprawled out on her stomach, resisting any inclination he might have to cuddle, before she closed her eyes and passed out.

When her eyes opened once more, there was barely a hint of grey coming in through the windows. She took a moment to revel in how rested she felt, the bed more comfortable than any she had had in longer than she could remember. Glancing to the side she saw Balgruuf still beside her, laying on his back and snoring softly as if he was still as exhausted from their activities as she had been.

The urge to stay was nonexistent, as she realized she was finally free to return to the Sanctuary. She needed to report to Nazir, and staying here would get her nothing.

As she thought it she saw a gleam of gold coming from the wardrobe's partially open doors, and a mischievous impulse seized her. Quietly as she could she clambered out of the bed and sought her armor, dressing quickly so as not to wake him. Once she had all of her things, she found a piece of parchment and quill from a stack on the table in the corner and hurriedly scrawled a note.

Opening the wardrobe slowly so as to avoid any creaking, she studied the contents and debated what she could carry with her. A small golden box caught her eye, and she smirked to herself as she picked it up and looked within. The stone was pink, not as red as a ruby though it shone brighter than one, and she wondered what it was made of. Whatever it was, it was clearly valuable, perhaps even another heirloom.

Aurelia slipped the gemstone into her pack, and placed the golden box open on the table beside his bed before resting the note she had written where the stone had been.

> Guess you still haven’t learned your lesson, Balgruuf. See you next time.
> 
> — Vesta

With that she slipped from the room, pulling her hood up as she left.


	9. The Wicked Get No Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from ["Trouble" by Cage the Elephant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lA-gGl6qihQ).

_“It was cleanly executed, I’ll give you that.”_

_Aurelia glanced away from the old crone, the blood seeping from her wound to soak her nightgown. Her victim’s eyes were still wide with fear, mouth open in a silent scream._

_Behind her stood a familiar face, and Aurelia instinctively tightened her hold on her dagger._

_“But this, Aurelia?” The man began pacing, hands clasped behind his back. His lips pursed, and after a moment he raised a hand to trace the shape of his goatee with thumb and forefinger. “You should have just gutted her and been done with it. You’re still so sentimental, allowing your emotions to dictate your every move.”_

_Aurelia scoffed and shook her head, glancing back at the lifeless body of a woman who was far from Kind._

_“This felt personal,” she muttered._

_“Of course it did. It always did for you.” He sighed and smoothed the front of his extravagant clothes. A sneer turned up his lip as he looked out of the room, glancing at the blurred faces of orphans watching them. “I did what I could, but —”_

_“Don’t,” Aurelia growled. Again she fidgeted the dagger, squeezing so tightly she could feel the grooves of the hilt through her leather glove. “After what you did —”_

_He let out a soft chuckle and smirked at her. “Business is business, I always told you. Nothing personal, my little nightshade.”_

_“Maybe for you, Vitrus, but just you wait.” Aurelia leveled him with a determined glare, refusing to let him see her falter._

_It felt like a hollow threat, and she marveled a bit at her nerve._

_“If this is the sort of thing you’ve been reduced to,” he paused and gestured behind her to where Grelod lay, “I doubt I have much to worry about. Pity. You were such a bright, lovely young thing —”_

_Aurelia charged, raising her dagger, giving little thought to anything as she felt the rage swell inside her. He grabbed her shoulder, and she found she couldn’t get any closer. He was shaking her, laughing at her —_

_“Auri, Auri —”_

“Auri! Auri, wake up,” a voice hissed in her ear.

With a start she sat up, glancing around as she fumbled for the dagger beneath her pillowcase. The walls of the Sanctuary and soft glow of torches from the kitchen below finally steadied her, and she looked up to see who was standing above her.

“Astrid? Something the matter?”

Aurelia took a moment to check both entrances to the room, which she had been certain she could always see from the bed she chose. They were alone, and she allowed herself a soft sigh of relief. She sat up fully, allowing Astrid the chance to take a seat on the mattress’ edge.

“I need your help. I’ve — begun to have my suspicions. About Cicero, and...I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right, I —”

“Astrid, slow down,” Aurelia interrupted. She sighed and set her dagger back on her pillow so that she could sit forward beside Astrid. “Cicero is just a mad jester, but he seems — well, about as dangerous as everyone else in the Sanctuary, but not more so.”

“No, no, and that’s the thing.” Astrid ran a hand through her hair, leaving it disheveled as she looked around to make certain they were still alone.

Aurelia found herself doing the same, glancing behind her a few times to make certain she didn’t see a familiar figure in extravagant clothes, frowning at her.

_He couldn’t be here._

“I think Cicero is plotting something,” Astrid whispered in a hurry, pulling Aurelia’s attention back to the present. “Every day he goes into the room where he keeps the Night Mother’s coffin, locks the doors, and begins speaking with someone. They’re plotting, I just know they are. But I don’t know who would betray us like this, in which family member I’ve misplaced my trust —”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little, uh — paranoid?” Aurelia fought the urge to glance over her shoulder again, ignoring the irony of her accusation even as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickling.

Astrid did not, in fact, think that she was being paranoid. After hearing her continue to describe her suspicions, Aurelia finally relented and asked what she could do to help.

Which is how, still trying to shake the grogginess from her mind and body, she found herself crouched in front of the Night Mother’s coffin, lockpick in hand.

When the lock gave with a click and one door began to creak open, she was surprised not to be met with the stench of rot. Instead it was something herbal, medicinal, almost. Frowning and resisting the grimace that threatened to pull back her lips, she carefully swung the door fully open.

Within was the corpse, as expected, and Aurelia stared at it for a moment, unable to make her feet carry her forward. The sound of footsteps coming behind her finally encouraged her, and she quickly slipped within the coffin.

To her surprise, the door closed behind her.

Trying to steady her heartbeat, she took deep breaths and focused instead on listening to whoever had entered the chamber. Each deep breath was filled with that same herbal scent, and she realized it smelled like an oil she had seen at apothecary’s shops. It was pleasant, soothing, and she managed to steady her breathing so she could do what she had come to do.

Listen.

"Are we alone? Yes...yes...alone. Sweet solitude. No one will hear us, disturb us. Everything is going according to plan. The others...I've spoken to them. And they're coming around, I know it.”

Aurelia froze as she listened to the jester, amazed that Astrid had been right. She waited for a reply, and yet…

None came.

Frowning to herself, she listened as Cicero continued, still waiting for his co-conspirator to speak.

Instead her attention was drawn to a soft glowing before her.

And for a moment, she had no idea what she was looking at — or how she was seeing it, even.

The Night Mother’s corpse was illuminated, but it shifted, surrounded by a flickering, eerie glow. She was — _alive_. Aurelia didn’t know how she knew that, but the certainty settled in her mind as she watched the space where the corpse had been.

Because what was in front of her was no corpse. It was a woman. A Dunmer, a Nord, a Redguard, and somehow all of them at once. The form never seemed to settle, eternally shifting until the only impression Aurelia was left with was beauty, such as she had never beheld before. Black hair flowed around the woman’s bare shoulders, and delicate, gossamer fabric flowed with her movements as she spread her arms as if to embrace her.

“Poor Cicero,” a deep, velvety voice said in her ear. “Dear Cicero. Such a humble servant. But he is not the one who will hear my voice.”

Eyes that pierced through her very being fixed on Aurelia, and even if she had wanted to, or been physically capable of doing so, she couldn’t turn from them. It was as if everything else fell away, so that she no longer even heard Cicero’s continued ramblings.

“Yes,” the Night Mother continued, tilting her head as she examined Aurelia. “We are both so far from home, you and I. Perhaps you have missed the Lucky Old Lady...Did you shelter beneath her during the rains, when you couldn’t otherwise find peace on the streets?”

Aurelia’s lips parted in a gasp but no sound came out. A vivid memory of home flashed across her mind, and she felt tears well unexpectedly in her eyes.

“And now you share my iron tomb, and warm these ancient bones.” As the Night Mother said it she reached a hand to brush her knuckles across Aurelia’s cheekbone. “Yes, you are the one. Your Mother welcomes you home, sweet child. And I have a task for you, dear Aurelia. Journey to Volunruud, and speak with Amaund Motierre.”

“I —”

“Tell Cicero the time has come. Tell him the words he has longed to hear, these many years.” The Night Mother leaned forward, and Aurelia swore she felt cold breath on her ear. “Darkness rises when Silence dies.”

The darkness that settled after the last word was just as abruptly extinguished by bright light, and Aurelia fell backwards, a huff of breath leaving her as she made contact with the stone floor. For a moment she stared up at the ceiling, uncertain what was going on, until Cicero leaned over her.

“Defiler!” he screamed, his eyes wide in his madness. “How dare you desecrate the Night Mother’s coffin —”

“I — I can explain —” 

But even as she said it she wasn’t certain she could.

The herbs, the way she had been awoken by Astrid — that had to be. It was the only explanation her mind would wrap around, rejecting what she had just seen as anything more.

“By Sithis this ends now!” The doors were flung open with the shout, and Astrid charged in, blade drawn. “Are you all right, Auri?"

“You!” Aurelia rolled over and tried to push herself to her feet, unsteadily clambering off the stone as she reached for the dagger at her waist. “What did you give me? What drug did you slip me?”

Astrid stared blankly at her, eyebrows raising when she noticed the Elven dagger Aurelia held before herself. “What do you mean, Sister? I gave you nothing — you agreed to help me.”

“You — you woke me up, but you must have slipped me something before you did, or — was it in the coffin? It smells like herbs, it — something to make me see things! But why — why poison me with hallucinations, Astrid?” Aurelia tightened her grip on the hilt of her dagger, hating that she was shaking.

Astrid held her hands up, loosening the hold on her own blade. “Auri, please. I didn’t slip you anything.”

“But then why? Why was she asked to defile the Night Mother’s tomb?” Cicero inserted himself back into the conversation, taking the chance of a few steps towards Aurelia. He was still glowering at her, one of his hands twitching near his hip.

“Astrid asked me to — to see who you spoke with, who you plotted with —”

“Plot? I plot with no one. No, Cicero spoke only to the Night Mother, but she does not speak to Cicero. No, she speaks to no one —”

“Except,” Aurelia began, and she glanced at the coffin. “Darkness rises when Silence dies.”

The words were a whisper, but the way Cicero jumped, she may as well have screamed them.

“What was that?” His eyes were fixed on her, corners of his mouth twitching up.

“I — I don’t know. I thought…” Aurelia glanced at Astrid, and finally began to lower her blade. The certainty that she had been drugged was slowly leaving her, as the realization that what she had seen must have been real replaced it. “I thought I’d been drugged, but...she spoke to me. ‘Darkness rises when Silence dies.’ She told me to tell you that.”

Cicero’s face immediately split into a wide grin, and he leapt into the air as he clapped his hands. “She said the words! The sacred words! The words to let poor Cicero know — oh thank you, Mother, thank you! The silence has been broken — she has chosen a Listener!”

“A — what?”

“What is this lunacy, what are you going on about?” Astrid snapped, glaring at the jester as he continued prancing with joy.

“The Night Mother has chosen a Listener! Auri is the one!”

Aurelia’s stomach clenched, and her fingers relaxed, the clatter of her dagger on the stones echoing in the small room. “The — no, surely you jest.”

Astrid slowly turned her way, an inscrutable look on her face as she considered Aurelia. There was almost a dangerous glint to the way she sheathed her blade, her face hard and unsmiling. “What does he mean?”

“I — I think the Night Mother spoke to me. I thought I was hallucinating, but...I saw her. She told me to go to Volunruud. To speak with a man named Amaund Motierre.”

Astrid continued to stare at her, until Aurelia gulped and bent to pick up her dagger. “I — should I? And see if it’s —”

“What? I — no. _No._ ” Astrid seemed off-kilter for a moment before she fixed her face back into a neutral stare. “No, that’s — go to Nazir. He has more contracts, ask him to give you one.”

She shot a suspicious glare at Cicero, who was oblivious as he continued staring at Aurelia in awe. But the chance to flee the chamber was too tempting to pass over, and she gave a jerky nod to Astrid before she swept past her.

Crossing the short distance of the Sanctuary to her bed, she sank onto its side, mind racing as she tried to figure out what had just happened.


End file.
